Suddenly Everything Just Changed
by SomewhereApart
Summary: Charlotte and Cooper get an unexpected surprise that will change their relationship - and their lives - forever.  Or, what would have happened if Charlotte was really pregnant during season two . Picks up after 2.09, "Know When To Fold."
1. Chapter 1

**_Author's Note:_**_ So, I am surrounded by people having babies. There are babies all over my facebook, babies coming in the next few months, babies on my TV shows. Babies, babies, everywhere! And I couldn't resist. I will be finishing Coping and Every Road, but I hope y'all enjoy this little (okay, not so little. This is gonna be another loooooong one) trip down pregnancy lane with Charlotte and Cooper. _

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><p>She should've known. She should've known, what with the way she'd been weepin' over Cooper and shovelin' in Chunky Monkey that somethin' was up. This wasn't the way she'd dealt with heartache before, not that her marriage fallin' apart could be compared to a breakup with a man she'd only just realized she was in love with.<p>

Still.

Somethin' was up.

She'd told herself the exhaustion was from slavin' away at two jobs, from the stress of opening a practice, and the stress of secret-keepin'. She'd told herself her boobs hurt because her period was comin', and it was worse this month just because. Some months are worse than others, right? That's just the way it goes. Part and parcel of the whole estrogen parade.

She'd told herself all of that until Cooper Freedman had told her she was pregnant. And she'd refused to believe it, until she was puking her guts up again, some more, three times the night before, and damnit if she was pregnant, wasn't it supposed to be called "morning sickness" for a reason?

Still, she'd been almost hopeful — irrationally, crazy-headed hopeful — that the pregnancy test she'd taken with Cooper would be positive. Not that she has time for a baby right now, because she doesn't. She doesn't have the time, or the desire, and to be honest she's not entirely sure she wouldn't make an absolutely horrible mother. But standin' there, with him, talkin' about baby names, and workin' things out… well, she has to admit she'd wanted it just a little for a minute there.

Maybe it was just the way he'd been lookin' at her like she wasn't awful. For once. But all that came crashing down good and hard with the clear, blue minus sign on the test. Not pregnant. No baby. And any ideas she'd had about reconciliation went flyin' out the window when she'd tried to make nice at the end of the day. He'd made it perfectly clear that he didn't want a damned thing to do with her unless she was pregnant. And she wasn't. But halfway through her commute home, the nausea came on in a wave again, and…

Call it disappointment, call it hope, call it stupid, useless love. Call it a mother's intuition (dear God, that's terrifyin'), but somethin' possessed her on the way home to stop at the drug store and pick up two more tests. Just coverin' her bases, of course. False positives do happen, right?

When the first test came up positive, she went lightheaded, her belly suddenly hot with nerves, fingers suddenly icy cold and shaky as she'd fumbled for the cup next to the bathroom sink. She'd filled it and guzzled it once, twice, a third time, then grabbed box number two and torn it open.

Now she's sittin' here, perched on the closed toilet seat and watchin' the hands tick on her watch until enough time has passed.

When she sees another menacing little plus sign staring back up at her, she presses her hands to her belly and mutters, "Shit."

Looks like she's pregnant after all.


	2. Chapter 2

Charlotte had called twice the night before. Cooper had let it go to voicemail both times. He couldn't talk to her, not right now. He was determined to be over her, determined to move on. After what she did…

It had been all too easy to get lost in the fantasy yesterday. All too easy to imagine the two of them with a little baby. His dark hair, and her green eyes. A trumpet player. They could be a family, maybe get a dog. When the test came up negative, he was relieved, but not entirely. There was this tiny sliver of disappointment, the dream slipping from his hands and shattering on the floor.

And then he came back to his senses and remembered why he hated her. The lying. The betrayal. The way she got under his skin with her earnest apologies, making him feel bad for being mad, which was ridiculous because he had every right. He has every right.

So he didn't take her calls last night. Because he's still mad, and because he still aches for her, every time he sees her, every time he hears her voice, and he's determined to be strong.

But now he's at work, staring at the Post-It he found stuck to his computer this morning: "Out for a while. Be back around noon. — C"

He has no idea why he's supposed to know that, and has decided he doesn't care. But he can't keep his eyes from shifting to the Post-It every few minutes, or to the message symbol on his cell phone. And now it's 11:45, and she'll be back in the building soon, and his curiosity is getting the best of him.

With a sigh, Cooper breaks, and dials his voicemail. The first one is nothing — just silence, maybe a little sigh if you're listening too hard (which, of course, he is), and then a click. And then the second message starts, her voice coming over the line, not quite the cool, confident Charlotte he's used to hearing on his voicemail. "Hey. I don't know if you're out, or ignorin' me, or what, but… Well, I waited a while and called back, and… I just really need to talk you. It's important. If I don't hear from you before then, I'm comin' to find you in the mornin'. First thing. So… call me."

Cooper wants to say he doesn't care what she wants to talk about, that he doesn't even want to hear what it is, but something sounds off, and he can't help but wonder what's so important that she'd call him twice in one night and then stalk him in the office the next morning. But he'll be damned if he does this on her terms, so he makes a decision to leave his office, swing by the kitchen for a banana and head down to Pacific Wellcare. The sooner he can get this over with, the sooner he can get back to getting over her.


	3. Chapter 3

He's sitting behind her desk when she arrives, and she clearly wasn't expecting that, because she stops dead in her tracks when she sees him. She doesn't say anything at first, and neither does he. She just looks him over, nods a little and shuts the door behind her.

"Wasn't expectin' this," she tells him, heading to the sofa.

"You told me you wanted to talk," he points out as she sits, smoothes her hands over her slacks, and nods. She looks nervous. It's unnerving.

"Yes. I did." She gestures to the spot next to her. "You wanna get your butt outta my chair and come listen?"

"Oh, so this is one of those you-talk-and-I-listen things?" he says, shaking head head as he stands and walks toward her. Of course it is. What the hell else would it be with Charlotte? An actual discussion? Not likely.

"No, I'm hoping this might be an actual discussion," she tells him, and Cooper can't help but chuckle.

He sits on the sofa, but makes a point to keep several inches of space between them. "If this is you trying to get back together again, it's not going to happen. You betrayed me. And I don't-"

"Cooper, shut up," she sighs, and he notices for the first time how weary she looks. She presses one hand to her belly, and swallows noticeably. "I'm not tryin' to get back together, this isn't about that."

"Are you still sick?" he asks her. "Because unless that was some really rank lobster, you should be feeling better by now."

She looks at him for a second, really looks at him, and he watches her expression shift into something anxious, almost vulnerable. Damnit. Not this face. He can't resist this face. _Stay strong,_ he tells himself. _Remember what she did…_

Finally, she speaks, and at first he doesn't get what she's saying, because all she says is, "It wasn't the lobster."

"What, was the salmon poisonous, too?" he asks her. "Because, really, Charlotte, with your anal retentive attention to detail, you'd think you'd do a better job vetting your caterers."

"Cooper," she tells him, not at all amused. "It wasn't the lobster. You were right."

"I was right?" he repeats, brow furrowed. What the hell is she talking about?

"You were right."

"About…?"

"Good Lord, Cooper, you're really gonna make me spell it out for ya, aren't you?" She swallows hard again. "I'm pregnant." Cooper hears it, and just blinks. He made that up, right? "And now I'm gonna barf," she adds, scrambling past him and upchucking in the trash can.

Cooper's still trying to catch up. She's… what?

After she retches a few times, Charlotte slumps against the wall, eyes closed, head tipped back. Cooper turns to look at her.

"You're… are you sure?"

One green eye cracks open to look at him. "Positive."

"But the test was negative."

"First one was," she tells him, and now she's got one hand pressed to her belly again, lightly, like she's afraid to press too hard. "Took two more last night, just to be sure. Both positive."

"They could've been false positives," Cooper reasons, feeling the panic creep in slightly. "I mean, false positives happen all the time. False negatives are-"

"I had my OB squeeze me in this morning to confirm it. That's where I just came from." She takes a deep breath, and pushes herself to her feet. "I have an ultrasound photo," she tells him, reaching for her purse and digging through it for a second. Cooper doesn't realize his fingers are shaking until she unearths the photo and hands it over to him. "Six weeks."

Cooper stares at the photo. There's a solid oval of empty uterus in the middle of it, but sure enough, there's a little blob attached to one side. A surge of suspicion has him glancing at the top, but the date is today, and the name across the top is hers — KING, CHARLOTTE. He looks up just far enough to her stomach. There's a baby in there.

And then what she said finally sinks in.

"Wait — six weeks?" He looks at her face now, frowns at her. "You didn't get your last period?"

"Thought I did," she sighs. "With the pill I'm on, they're always light and short, you know that. The last one was lighter and shorter than usual, but I didn't think anything of it. Turns out it wasn't a period at all. It was implantation bleedin'."

Cooper nods a little. That makes sense, he guesses. "You're sure it's mine?" he asks, and she looks so offended he almost feels bad for asking.

"Of course it's yours," she tells him sternly. "Who the hell else would be the father?"

"Well, I don't know, Charlotte. Clearly you were keeping secrets-"

"Business secrets, Cooper. Because I had to. Because I was legally obligated to-"

"That's a crap excuse," he points out. Legal obligations his ass.

"No, it's the truth. And I may have kept the practice a secret, but I would never cheat on you. I don't cheat. I've been cheated on and it's…" Well, now he feels like crap. She'd never told him that before — he'd wondered, what with her rampant trust issues and all, but she'd never outright admitted she'd been hurt that way. She takes a deep breath, lifts her chin indignantly, and says, "I wouldn't do that to you. And I can't believe you think I would."

"I-" He sighs, reaches for her hand and squeezes it gently. "I don't. I'm sorry. This is just… this is a lot, Charlotte. This is a lot to take in."

"You're tellin' me," she mutters, deflating a little.

"I'm hoping this goes without saying, but I'm asking anyway: we're going to keep the baby, right?"

Charlotte nods, grimaces and brings her hand to her stomach again. She's looking a little queasy as she tells him, "I'm financially sound, my career is well-established, I can't really justify not keepin' it. I'm all for choice and all that, but I have enough Southern hellfire burned into me to know I'd have a hard time livin' with myself if I had an abortion now, when I'm perfectly capable of carin' for a child. You're in, right? I mean, that goes without sayin', too — that you want to be involved."

"Of course I want to be involved," he tells her with a little smile.

"Because if you don't, I can do this on my own. I don't want my kid to have some half-assed, only-here-because-he's-gotta-be parent."

"Charlotte, I want to be here," he says. "That's my baby in there, and I don't want to miss a second of little Walter's—" She gives him a harsh look. "Little… Marmalade?" he guesses, not quite remembering the name she'd chosen — just that he didn't like it.

"Marjorie," she corrects with a look that's half insulted, half condescending.

Right. Marjorie. Her horse with the broken ankle. "Either way, I don't want to miss a minute of my child's life. We're in this together." She nods a little, and he can tell by the look on her face that no matter how much she may insist she could do this on her own, she's relieved he's not leaving her high and dry. "Any chance you'll revisit that whole making-me-suffer promise you made the other day?"

"Not a chance," she assures. "I'm gonna make sure it's hell for you. Just as soon as I can go three straight hours without vomiting."

Cooper finds himself making a sympathetic face, and realizes suddenly he's still holding one of her hands. He makes a point to let it go before asking, "It's that bad?"

"It's ridiculous. I had to pull over on the way to my appointment this morning, so I didn't reupholster my car."

"Well, look on the bright side: morning sickness usually wanes after the first trimester."

"Oh, so only another month and a half of tossin' my cookies after every meal," she says dryly. "That's so comfortin'."

Cooper frowns. "If it stays this bad, you should talk to Addison about it. We can't have you throwing up everything you eat. This little guy-" He holds up the ultrasound picture.

"Or girl."

"Or girl," agrees, before continuing, "Needs his nutrition."

She gives him a smile that's somewhere between a laugh and an exhale, and shakes her head. "Yeah…" Charlotte's gaze suddenly sharpens. "Do _not_ tell Addison about this — or anyone. Not any of those nosy Nellies you work with, not your family, nobody. Nobody needs to know about this baby, not yet."

"What?" She can't be serious. "Come on, Charlotte, it's a baby. And unexpected baby, but still a baby. It's a joyous occasion - how can you expect me to not tell my friends and family?"

"Oh yeah, 'my bitch of an ex and I accidentally got pregnant' is a real joyous occasion," she mutters with a roll of her eyes. "I'm sure your family would love to hear it."

"Look, I know it's not ideal, but… I'm gonna be a dad. You're gonna be a mom. Isn't that something we should try to be happy about? Isn't that something we should share?"

"It's bad luck, Cooper." Her hands slide down to cross possessively over her navel. "You don't announce a pregnancy during the first trimester. I'm serious here, you can't tell anyone about this. Not yet."

"I'm telling my mother."

"Cooper!"

"No," he insists. "They're my _parents_, Charlotte. I'm not keeping this a secret from them. You don't want me to tell Addison, or Sam, or Pete-"

"Or Violet."

"What? Oh, come on! You're being ridiculous."

"I'm not being ridiculous," she tells him, reaching over and snatching the ultrasound picture from his fingers. "It's still really early, and you know the chances of things goin' wrong are highest now, so I don't want the whole world knowin' about this yet. It's _bad luck_."

"I'm not asking for the whole world-"

"Can't it just be ours, Coop?" she asks him suddenly, and the way she's got that vulnerable look again, the one he hates, the one he can't resist. "I mean, I know you hate me right now, but can't we just let this baby be ours for a few weeks before everyone is all over us, askin' us questions, bein' all nosy and judgey? Can't we just… You can tell your parents, if they can keep it to themselves, but aside from them, I'd really rather keep this between us for a few more weeks, alright?" She hesitates for a second and then adds, "Please?"

Cooper sighs, and damns that face, and agrees. "Fine. Just our parents, for now. And Violet."

"_Not Violet_," she tells him, again, looking down at the grainy photo in her hands. "Please, just… give me some time to get used to this whole thing before I have the whole Oceanside staff givin' me knowin' looks in the elevator."

"Alright, alright," he concedes again. "Just our parents. For now."

She nods again, sighs, and hands the photo back over. "This is yours. I have another copy for me. But I swear to God, Cooper, if I see this on display anywhere, I will personally make sure you can't make any more of these babies."

"Okay, yes, I get it," he sighs. "It's a super secret baby." He takes the photo back and looks at it, and he's hit once again with what it means, with the hugeness of this. "God, Char. We made a baby."

She nods, slowly, takes a deep breath and says, "Yes, we did."

"Who'd have thought, huh?"

She doesn't say anything, so he looks up at her again, and she's looking at him kind of funny. Like she's wrestling with whether or not to tell him something. He's about had it with secrets from her, so he says, "Out with it."

"What?"

"Whatever you're thinking about not saying to me right now — just say it."

"What does this mean for us?" she asks, and her voice has gone soft, and a little nervous. "I mean, does this… change anything?"

Cooper looks down at the picture again, and lets out a slow breath. He wants to say yes, but he just can't think past the way he felt when Violet told him about the practice. Just can't think past the fact that she could do that, that she could justify that kind of a lie. He's not sure he's ready to open himself up to that kind of hurt from her again, so he tells her, "No. Not right now."

"You don't think it'd be good for our kid to grow up with parents who are together?" she tries, and he knows it's manipulative, because two minutes ago she was telling him she could raise the baby on her own just fine.

"Charlotte." He shakes his head a little, looks up and meets her eye. "We have…" He does a quick mental calcuation. "Thirty-four weeks to figure that out. Right now, no. It doesn't change anything."

She nods a little, looks away, and if he wasn't watching her so closely, he might have missed the way her chin quivers just a little. But he is watching that closely, so it makes his heart hurt a little. It hurts even more when she says, "Do you think you could at least give not hatin' me a try? Because this a lot for me, too, and…" She inhales slowly, and he decides not to even let her finish the thought.

"I don't hate you," he tells her softly, and she looks at him again, then. "I want to. But I don't. I'm just hurt."

"I'm sorry," she tells him, not for the first time.

"I know."

"I…" She looks away, looks down at her hands, takes a deep breath and confesses, "I miss you."

The vice squeezes a little tighter around his heart, and he manages, "I miss you, too. I'm just not ready yet."

"Okay," she breathes, nodding again, and tipping her chin back up. A tear slips out when she blinks and she wipes it away quickly. "We, uh… we need to stop talkin' about this. I'm all hormonal and weepy, and I'm gonna make a fool of myself."

"Okay," he tells her, and suddenly he's itching to touch her. Itching to wipe those tears away himself, itching to tuck her hair behind her ear, to kiss her mouth, to scoop her up and hold her tight, and tell her that they're going to be alright, that this whole thing is going to work out, that he'll take her back and they'll make it work.

He's gotta get out of here before he breaks.

Thankfully, she gives him the out: "I've gotta get back to work. I have a boatload of paperwork to catch up, and I'm sure you've got patients."

He clears his throat a little, then says, "Yeah," and stands, taking one last look at the ultrasound photo before tucking it into his back pocket. "I do."

She's watching him, and says, "Make sure you put that picture somewhere-"

"Yeah, yeah," he assures. "Keep it secret; keep it safe. I've got it."

She stands, too, then, and heads for her desk, settling into the chair as he heads for the door. He stops, fingers on the handle and turns to her. "You know if you need anything — _anything_ — you can call me, okay?"

She tries to give him a smile, but it comes out more of a grimace, because her chin is wavering again. She nods, waves a hand at him, and he leaves before the tears get the better of her, shutting the door behind him to give her her privacy.

When he gets back to his office, he tucks the ultrasound photo safely away in his desk drawer, and just sits there for a minute.

He's pretty sure his life is never going to be the same.


	4. Chapter 4

Charlotte is pretty sure she just puked out some of her own brain.

She's sure of it. She has to have. What the hell else could she be puking up?

She was up with the sun today, anxious and jittery, despite the lack of coffee — and oh God, how she misses coffee. She hasn't had a sip of it since she found out she was pregnant, and it's killing her. She's tired all the time, has to drag her ass out of bed most mornings. She broke down last night, and set the coffee pot to brew this morning, thinking maybe just the smell would be enough to perk her up. It worked — in fact, the smell of brewing coffee had her so up that she'd attempted to make breakfast.

Eggs. Scrambled eggs. She'd been starving, and it was one of the few things she knew how to make.

But then they'd started cooking — the eggs. They'd started cooking, and they'd gotten that smell… That… egg smell. She can't even describe it, she just knows that the smell of eggs cooking had sent her running for the bathroom, where she's been for the last ten minutes, retching up stomach acid and toothpaste and the whole lot of nothin'-much-else that's left in her stomach. Her eyes are teary, her throat is sore, and her abs are startin' to ache.

And the smell is starting to waft — except now it smells like burning, because she's had eggs sittin' unattended on the stove for the last ten minutes. She's gotta do somethin' about this, she thinks, so she gropes for a clean washcloth from under the bathroom sink, presses it to her nose to replace the burnt, eggy smell with the clean scent of detergent, and hauls herself to her feet.

She manages to stumble into the kitchen, and pulls the trash can out from under the kitchen sink. She turns the burner off, yanks the pan off the stove and dumps the charred contents unceremoniously into the trash. Then she tosses the pan in the sink, squeezes soap into it with her free hand, then puts the tap on, cold, to cool the pot and cover the smell.

She can't quite manage to tie the garbage off with one hand, so she takes a deep breath, then holds it before setting the washcloth on the countertop, tying off the garbage and bee-lining it for her front door. She dumps the bag right outside — she'll take it down on her way to work, but right now she just needs to get rid of the smell — and slams the door shut.

Good Lord, that was horrible.

She lets the breath explode out of her lungs, then sucks in air without thinking — and promptly gags again. She slaps a hand over her mouth, plugs her nose and opens every damned window in the house.

Five minutes later, she can breath easy again, finally.

She makes a mental note to never go near another egg.

Ever.


	5. Chapter 5

**_Author's Note:_**_ Breaking my own rules and posting twice in one day. If you haven't yet, make sure you pop back and read chapter four._

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><p>"I need to talk to you," Cooper says, barreling into Violet's office first thing in the morning. It's been four days since he found out he's going to be a father, and the not telling her is killing him.<p>

As he shuts the door behind him, she looks up from her desk, raises her eyebrows and says, "O…kay."

Cooper flops down on her sofa, and starts rambling. "I shouldn't tell you, I know I shouldn't, I promised I wouldn't, but I have to. I have to. I can't keep sitting here, knowing this, with nobody to talk to about it. And Charlotte said I could tell my parents, but I've tried, I've tried to call them, and I can't. I don't even know what to say. I spent two hours on the phone with my mother yesterday, and I couldn't for the life of me find a proper segue — not that one exists. I mean, how do you transition into 'hey, mom, you're going to be a grandma!'"

Violet, who has joined him on the sofa, finally stops him then. "Wait — what? Is Charlotte — Are you — She's pregnant?"

He sits up, then, all the way, and answers, "Yes. Yes, she is, and yes, we are, and… I'm having a baby with Charlotte King."

Violet just stares at him, her mouth opening and closing like a fish, before she manages, "How did this even happen? I thought you said you were avidly trying _not_ to have kids."

"Yeah, we were, but God and the Pill had other plans, apparently, because she sat me down earlier this week and handed me this." He pulls the sonogram picture from his back pocket, and hands it over. "That, right there," he points to the fuzzy, formless blob of an embryo on the image, "Is my kid. My kid that I made with Charlotte. And I… I don't know what to feel about this right now."

"Well, I'd say not knowing how to feel is a pretty fair reaction when you find out you're having a baby with your ex, who betrayed you, and who you hate, and-"

"I don't hate her," Cooper admits, because it's true, he doesn't, he doesn't hate Charlotte at all. He's just mad at her, and even that he feels less and less every time he looks at that fuzzy little blob on the ultrasound picture, and thinks of his baby, safe and sound in her belly. "I don't hate her. I know I said I hate her, but I don't hate her, I love her. I wish I didn't, but I do. I love her, and I miss her, and I want her to hurt the way I hurt when she opened that stupid practice, but now she's pregnant, and she's tired, and she's puking, and I just… I want to hate her, but I don't. I want to be mad about this baby, but… I can't. I just can't, Vi, I mean look at it." He points at the picture again. "Look at that little blob, there. That's my blob; I made that blob. My freaky sex with Charlotte made that little blob, and-"

He ignores Violet's, "Ew," and her "That's a mental image I really didn't need," and forges ahead.

"-That little blob is going to become a little fetus, and that little fetus is going to become a baby, and I'm going to take it to Little League, and band practice, and summer camp, and we're going to, I don't know, fix cars together or something. And I want to be mad, but I love kids. I do. And… now I'm going to have one."

"Yes, but with Charlotte," Violet points out, putting her hands on her shoulders to settle him a little, and looking him straight in the eye. "You're going to have one with Charlotte. Charlotte King. Charlotte who insisted your relationship be a secret, Charlotte who wouldn't let you call her your girlfriend until you stopped using condoms, Charlotte who walked out of your apartment the night you told her you loved her for the first time, because she couldn't handle it."

"Yeah, I know all that, Vi, but-"

"Charlotte who used information you gave her to open a competing practice right downstairs, and then kept it from you, and refused to tell you, and then I had to tell you, and you broke a door. She made you break the office, Cooper, do you really want to have a baby with her? Parent with her? Be tied to her for the rest of your life?"

He holds up the ultrasound picture, right in front of her face. "We already made the blob, Violet. I don't really have a choice. And besides, she's… she's smart, and she's funny, and she's beautiful, and… yes, she drives me crazy, but I love her. I love her, and we made a baby, and I want to be upset about it, but I'm just… I have a feeling this is going to be a good thing, Vi. I don't know how we're going to make it through this, I don't know how I'm going to survive a pregnant Charlotte, because — yikes — she's bad enough when she's not hormonal, but… I think this might be a good thing. I think this might be a good thing, and then I think of what my parents will say, and I think of the fact that we aren't together anymore, and I think of how I have no idea how to start trusting her again, and I think of how everything could go wrong, and how dirty a custody battle would be if it did, and I'm terrified." He sighs, looks at the ultrasound again. "And then I look at this, and it's good again. And I think of the look on her face when she told me, and how insistent she is that we not tell anyone yet, because she could miscarry, and…" Another breath in, another sigh out. "She's scared, and I'm scared. And I think she's hopeful, and I'm hopeful. And I just… I think this is good." He looks at her again, finally. "Do you think this is good?"

"I think this is crazy," she tells him, and then she shrugs. "But you're right about one thing — the blob's already there. And it doesn't sound like you're considering abortion or adoption, so…"

"No, definitely not," Cooper confirms.

"So then, I guess… try to focus on the hopeful, because it sounds like this baby is coming whether you're happy about it or not."

"Yeah." He can tell the by tone of her voice thats he's definitely not happy about it, but he didn't really expect anything different. She's never liked him being with Charlotte, not since that day he told her while she washed lice out of his hair. He takes a deep breath, lets it out again. "Violet?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm having a baby with _Charlotte King_," he tells her, grimacing just a little, because, yes, he's excited, but he's also terrified. Just scared shitless about the whole thing, and he needs someone to tell him it's going to be okay. That having a baby with Charlotte, getting their lives all tangled up together, again, permanently, won't end in disaster.

"Do you need me to hold your hand for a minute?" she offers, and he nods.

"Yes, please."

She holds her hand out, and he takes it and squeezes, then tells her, "You can't tell anyone about this. I mean it, she'll kill me. And she's pregnant, so I think she might actually be crazy enough to do it right now."

"I won't tell anyone," Violet promises. "Now, just breathe."

He does, they do, and neither of them moves until Violet's first patient arrives.


	6. Chapter 6

**_Author's Note: _**_This chapter contains some dialogue that was lifted directly from the show. I take no credit for such dialogue - all credit for any lines featured on the show goes to ABC/Disney/Shonda Rhimes. It's their world, I just like to play in it._

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><p>They've barely seen each other in the week since she's told him she's pregnant. She doesn't blame him, and she doesn't think it's intentional. He's texted her to check up on her a few times, but right now there's nothin' he can do, unless he wants to work on figuring out what's goin' on between them, and he doesn't. So that's that.<p>

So, of course, the first time they really see each other is when he shows up in her hospital with a sick, kidnapped kid. The first time they really see each other, they're fightin' again. And, y'know, maybe he's right about the whole thing, but it's not her job to decide that when it comes to the law. It's her job to make sure she does everything by the letter, to protect her hospital, to protect her doctors, and her patients, and why doesn't he see that?

She's not really surprised to discover the kid and his dad have split by the time the police get there, and frankly, she's tempted to give him credit for speed on that one, because they had to have beat a real hasty exit to evade the cops. Still, it sticks her in a bind, and she's pissed, and she's gonna let him know it.

She marches into his office at Oceanside, all fire and irritation and tells him, "Police officers showed up in Evan's hospital room. You know what they found?"

"Your broomstick?" he asks, and since she knows he's pissed at her for this afternoon, she chooses to ignore the sting of the insult.

"This isn't a joke, Cooper. You tipped 'em off," she tells him, just to make sure he knows she knows what's up. "You're obstructing a police investigation. If they found out you were involved in the disappearance, you could go to jail."

"I'll take my chances," he tells her, and she wonders how he can be so boneheaded.

And then she says, "No, you won't. I covered for you."

He looks genuinely surprised by that, and asks her, "Why?"

"'Cause now we're even," she says, before adding, "And because if you go to jail for this kid, you're not gonna be here for ours. And I don't want to do this alone. I can, but I don't want to. So if protectin' my family means lyin' for you this one time, I'll do it. But I really don't want to have to do it again."

He rubs his hand over his mouth, then rests it there and nods.

"We've got more to think of now than just ourselves, you know that," she continues.

"I know."

"Do you? Because you've got the easy job, okay? You just have to sit there and wait for me to pop the kid out, I'm the one who's—" A pair of nurses pass by outside, chatting with each other, and she's suddenly very aware this conversation isn't as private as she'd like. She shuts the door, then finishes, "I'm the one who's had her body hijacked. I'm the one who can't help but think about this baby, because I'm the one pukin' my guts up every day, and I'm the one exhausted, and sore, and — and cryin' at the drop of a hat! " She's tearing up, and it just pisses her off even more. "I have to think about this baby every minute, the least you can do it give it a passin' thought before you go off playin' the hero for someone else's kid."

"Okay, alright," he says, in that way he does when he wants her to calm down, and she thinks he means it when he adds, "I'm sorry. I didn't think."

"Clearly," she mutters, and he's standing now, and walking to her, and she's trying to get these damnable tears under control. Not for the first time, she tells herself how much she hates being pregnant. She takes a deep breath, blinks a few times, and he's got his hands on her shoulders.

"Come on, sit down. Just sit for a minute."

"Stop treatin' me with kid gloves," she tells him, shakily, wiping at the last couple of tears. "I'm fine."

"No, you're mad at me. And I don't think it's just about Evan Dawson."

He gives her a little nudge toward his sofa, and she gives in and sits with him.

"I am not — and even if I was, bein' mad at you is fine with me. So no worries there."

Cooper laughs a little at that, and Charlotte can't help cracking a smile as well. "Yeah, I think we both know that. But I'm not so fine with it." He takes her hand, and she hates how starved she is for the contact right now, how much she just wants to drink in every moment he's willin' to touch her. She's way too proud to ask him again to take her back, but right now all she wants is for things to go back to the way they were. "Look at me," he tells her, and she does. "I think about the baby every day. I wake up thinking about it, and I go to bed thinking about it. I treat kids every day, and I look at them, and I think… 'maybe our kid will look like that.' And 'what if our kid catches this…,' and… You're right, I didn't think about the consequences today. I didn't think about the stakes being higher now with the baby on the way, and I'm sorry. But that kid… Evan. There's more going on there than you know about, and he needs to be with his dad. If that was my kid, I'd want him with his dad. I'd want him safe."

"Safe isn't for you to decide, Cooper."

"I think it is."

"So, what? You're above the police now?" she questions. This whole situation is givin' her a headache. Or maybe that's just the baby findin' new ways to make her suffer.

"The police don't always listen to a scared kid, we both know that."

Charlotte sighs, slumps back against the sofa. He's never gonna agree with her on this, and she's too exhausted to fight about it right now. Still, she musters up the energy for, "He's not your kid." She presses his hand to her belly. "This is your kid. You want to think you know better than the law, you want to think these things are up to you, fine. I can't stop you. But do me a favor and just think through the long-term consequences when you do it. Think about the baby when it _matters_, Coop. Not just when you've got some snot-nosed, pudgy-cheeked little crap factory in front of ya, makin' you think about what ours will be like."

He laughs outright at that, shaking his head. "Wow. Tell me how you really feel about kids," he drawls.

"I'm serious, Cooper."

"Me too," he tells her, and it doesn't escape her notice that his hand is still pressed gently to her stomach. Maybe she's not the only one achin' for contact, after all. "And I will be more careful in the future, okay? I'm not going to stop protecting my patients, but I will try to be…" He's trying to find the right words, and settles on, "Less risky when I do."

"Thank you," she says, and she means it, she really does.

"And for what it's worth… I think about you, too. Not just the baby. I wonder how you're doing, how you're feeling, I worry about you. This - us - this baby — I think about it all the time. I just got caught up today, that's all."

She sighs, lets the admission soothe a little bit of the persistent ache of missing him, and says, "You don't have to wonder. Just ask."

"Okay. How are you feeling?"

"Really, really tired," she admits. "This baby is kickin' my butt."

Cooper makes a sympathetic face, and runs his hand back and forth, once, to one hip, across to the other, then back to settle in between again. Charlotte damn near purrs. "How's the morning sickness?"

Ugh, just the suggestion makes her queasy. "Still bad. I think that's half the reason I'm so tired — I'm pukin' up half my calories; I've got nothin' to run on. And it's not just mornin', it's evenin', too, and sometimes afternoon, just for kicks. I keep tryin' to find things that'll settle my stomach, but… I mean, this mornin' I threw up dry toast, so I think I just have to wait it out."

"You should talk to Addison," he tells her again, and Charlotte shakes her head.

"I have my own OB, Cooper, I don't need to join the Oceanside family."

"Okay, then talk to your OB," he reasons. "You shouldn't have to be sick all the time like this."

"Pregnant women get sick, Cooper, it's part of the deal. My body's goin' haywire, it's adjustin'. I can't go runnin' off halfway across town just because I start my days with my head in the toilet. I don't have time for that. I've got a hospital to run, and a practice to maintain; I can't go whinin' to my doctor every five minutes. I'll just muscle through it. Should get better in a few weeks, and until then-"

"Until then, that baby you keep saying I need to think more about will be living on, what? Dry toast?"

"If it stays like this much longer, I'll call my doctor," she concedes. She won't, but it'll get her out of the conversation, and that's all that matters to her at the moment. "And I've got prenatal vitamins; the kid will be fine."

"Not if you're not keeping them down," Cooper points out.

"Oh, for God's sake, Cooper!" she sighs, finally exasperated. "If I'm worried about it, I'll take care of it. Now please. Stop harpin' on me about it. I don't have the energy today."

"Alright, okay," he gives in, running his hand over her belly again. She lets her eyes drop shut, just for a second, and the next thing she knows, she's jerking her head up involuntarily as it droops, eyes popping open. Cooper's looking at her with this silly little smile on his face. Jesus, she really just fell asleep in her seat, didn't she? He confirms it when he says, "You really are exhausted."

"I really just did that, huh?"

"Fell asleep sitting up? Yeah." He draws his hand away, and her belly feels cold without the warmth of it. "Why don't you lie down for a few minutes? Take a nap."

"Can't," she tells him, taking a deep breath in hopes that the oxygen will help wake her up. "I've gotta get back downstairs — I've got work to finish up before I go home."

"Just a few minutes, Charlotte," he insists. "Take a break. I'll wake you in twenty."

She eyes him, considering. It's an awfully tempting offer, and her body is damn-near melting into the sofa cushions at just the suggestion of it. But she doesn't have that much time to spare, and a nap will just make her groggy if she sleeps too long. Still, she can feel her limbs gettin' heavier by the minute, so she compromises: "Fifteen. Any more than that, and it'll take me twice as long to get everything done when I wake up, and I'll never get home at a decent hour."

"Deal," he agrees. "Fifteen minutes — from the time you actually fall asleep."

She'd argue, but any less than fifteen is useless, and she doesn't think the falling asleep part will take her long. So she just waits for him to stand, then stretches out along the sofa. She's out in seconds.


	7. Chapter 7

**_Author's Note: _**_This chapter contains some dialogue that was lifted directly from the show. I take no credit for such dialogue - all credit for any lines featured on the show goes to ABC/Disney/Shonda Rhimes. It's their world, I just like to play in it._

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><p>As if Michael Perkins being diagnosed with the measles wasn't bad enough, the realization that he and his family had been down at Pacific Wellcare had to be piled on top of it. Cooper wasn't the least bit surprised that all eyes landed on him when it became apparent someone needed to tell Charlotte, but truth be told he'd have volunteered. He needs to talk to her — now. She's been exposed to the measles. She, and the baby she's carrying — his baby — have been exposed to a deadly disease, and he wants to just assume she's been vaccinated, but who the hell knows, and if she hasn't… He doesn't want to think about that, so he hauls his butt downstairs as fast as he can, and walks straight up to the kid behind the reception desk.<p>

"Hi, I need to speak w/ Dr. King," he tells him, before adding, "It's important."

Another doctor appears - a guy, who looks vaguely familiar. Cooper's distracted, can't place him, but thankfully he doesn't even have to try, because the guy says to him, "You're Dr. Freedman, right? I'm Sheldon. Sheldon Wallace."

"Violet's friend?" Cooper asks, making the connection.

"Right," Sheldon answers, before rambling ahead, "Well, I mean, I hope so. I'd like that, uh… How is she?"

Cooper really doesn't have time for chitchat.

"Exposed to the measles," he answers, and then he sees Charlotte, finally, walking up to the desk.

"Exposed to the measles?" she repeats.

"A kid in our practice has the measles," Cooper explains. "Which is why I'm here."

Charlotte arches a brow. "This concerns me how?"

"Well, you have this wonderful coffee bar that you advertise so prominently, and a lot of our patients wander by on their way upstairs."

Sheldon makes some comment about the coffee, but Cooper isn't paying attention. He's watching the reality of the situation register on Charlotte's face, and she is none too pleased.

"You've exposed my entire practice to the measles?" It's more of a disbelieving statement than a question.

"Technically, you have," he points out. "If you weren't flaunting that coffee everywhere, they'd never have been here." But that's not the point, so he lowers his voice and asks her, "Can I see you for a minute?" He glances between Sheldon and the receptionist. "In private."

She's glaring at him — no doubt unappreciative of him putting the blame for the coffee on her — but she nods and turns to the receptionist, telling him, "Lock the place down, and pull all the patient files from this mornin'. We're gonna have to check vaccination records for everyone, and figure out the scope of the exposure, ASAP."

"Yes, Dr. King," the kid answers, turning immediately to do as he's asked.

Charlotte beckons Cooper toward her office with a jerk of her head, then starts walking without paying any attention to whether or not he's following. He is, of course — hot on her heels, and shutting the office door behind them as soon as they're inside.

"Please tell me you've been vaccinated," he says once they're alone.

Her expression softens just a little, but not enough for him to think she's not pissed off about this whole situation. "When I was little, yeah," she assures. "I'm fine. And you people need to get your owned damned coffee."

"If we weren't fighting you for all our patients, maybe we could afford to," he challenges, and Charlotte rolls her eyes.

"Afraid of a little friendly competition?"

"No, we're more afraid of you poaching all our referrals, and — you know what? This doesn't matter right now," he says, frustrated that this is turning into a fight. "I've got a sick kid upstairs I need to take care of. I just wanted to let you know that your practice is at risk, and make sure you're okay."

"Well, I'm fine," she tells him, arms crossed. "Aside from the mountain of a headache this is gonna cause me — so why don't you go back upstairs so I can get started on it?"

"Fine," he tells her.

"Fine," she answers back.

Between the diagnosis, Mrs. Perkins' refusal to vaccinate, and Charlotte's bad attitude, Cooper is in a hell of a mood by the time he gets back upstairs.

**.::.**

Hours later, Michael Perkins is dead. His mother is sitting in a hospital chair next to Cooper, and Charlotte listens as the woman talks about her son. Listens to her grief, her shock, and her own heart squeezes with emotion. Is this what she's in for as a mother? This kind of desperate, emotional annihilation? She hopes — no, she prays, she makes an intentional point to clear her mind for a moment and actually pray to God — that she never has to feel this way about her own child.

She watches as the older woman gets up, makes her way to the sons that are still with her, and clings, and cries. Cooper's still sitting there, looking half as devastated as his patient's mother — but that doesn't surprise her. She's never met a doctor with more of a sense of personal responsibility for his patients than Cooper. It's one of the reasons she loves him so damned much.

And because she loves him, she can't just sit and watch him suffer alone, so she takes the few steps to close the space between them and sits in the open chair. She wants to say the right thing, something that will make this better, but a kid is dead, and there's really nothing that can make that better for anyone. So she says the only thing she can think of: "You did everything you could."

He looks at her for a few minutes, then finally says, "That kid didn't have to die. If she had just—" He breaks off, takes a deep breath and says, "I keep thinking 'what if that was our kid?' What if our kid got that sick, and…" he trails off, shakes his head.

"I know," she says, giving in to the urge to reach over and squeeze his hand. "Me too."

He squeezes in return, and doesn't let go. His gaze moves back over to the Perkins boys and their mom, and Charlotte can damned near feel the weight of grief suckin' all the air out of the place.

"Come over tonight," she says, without thinking.

He looks at her again. "What?"

This wasn't what she had planned — there's no way she's gettin' out early tonight, and their relationship is still in such a grey area right now, but… There's somethin' about losin' the young ones that makes her feel raw, and unsteady, and she knows he feels it, too. So she goes with it. "I have a load of paperwork to finish up here, but why don't you come over later? I could use the company after today, and I'm sure you could, too."

He looks at her for a second, and she can tell that he wants to, but what he says is, "If I come over, we'll do something stupid."

"First of all, it wouldn't be stupid," she argues quietly, before adding, "And second, I'm still walkin' around in a constant state of low-grade nausea, which doesn't really lend itself to feelin' all sexy. And by the time I get home, I'll be so exhausted that all I'll want is a shower, some dinner, and maybe a DVD or somethin'. Possibly a foot rub," she teases, wondering if she can coax a smile out of him.

He smirks a little, just a shadow of amusement flickering across his face.

"Plus, I have this crazy idea that I'd like somethin' more than toast and applesauce for dinner, and I can't cook a damned thing," she admits. "I know things have been strained between us lately, but… it'd be nice. You comin' over. That's all."

She's won him over, she can tell, even before he nods and says, "Yeah, okay. That'd be nice."

"I'll call you when I'm done here," she tells him, and he nods.

The conversation seems to be done, but he's still holding her hand, and she can't bear to separate them any sooner than she has to. Plus, she can still see the hurt, the frustration, the disappointment hangin' around his neck. So she lets her other hand settle on top of their joined ones, and stays with him. They sit there in silence for a while longer, until her pager goes off and she gets pulled away.


	8. Chapter 8

Cooper finishes work a full hour before Charlotte, so he takes the extra time to swing by the grocery store and grab something for dinner. It's not much: pasta, a jar of spaghetti sauce, some cheese. He gets lazy and goes for some frozen garlic bread, and a packet of frozen veggies. Light, easy, relatively bland food. He figures it'll sit well for her, if she's still been feeling sick. Plus, cooking will give him something to focus on besides the life he couldn't save today.

They end up meeting at her apartment, and she smiles at the sight of groceries in his arms, saying something about it beating the hell out of take-out. She looks worn, and tired, so he ushers her off to that shower she'd mentioned she'd probably want as soon as they get in the door. Cooper figures it'll do her some good, and let him have some time to clear his head, too. He sets about making the pasta, and tries not to think about all the things Michael Perkins might have had in store for him if his mother had just given him the damned vaccine. Baseball. Falling in love. College. Kids of his own.

_Stop it_, he tells himself._ Stop thinking about it._

He tosses the veggies in the microwave, preheats the oven for the bread, and then just leans against her kitchen counter and looks around. He focuses on everything in detail, so he doesn't have to focus on what's really on his mind. Her salt and pepper shakers are new. The countertops look bluer than they used to. There's a nick in the linoleum next to the pantry. The place looks the same as it did when they were together, but it feels different now. He can't quite put his finger on why.

Charlotte is just finishing up in the shower when her phone rings. Cooper hears the water shut off just as the first ring chimes. He calls to her, "Char! You have a phone call!" and it's ringing a second time.

"Be right there!" she yells back, and it rings for a third time. If it rings again, he knows it'll go to voicemail, so he answers it himself, heading toward the bathroom as he does.

"Charlotte King's phone," he says, just as Charlotte emerges from the bathroom in a rush, clad in nothing but a robe that's haphazardly belted. Her hair is still dripping wet, and there's not a stitch of makeup on her face. This is the way he loves her best, and the sight of her almost makes him forget what he's doing.

But then there's someone talking in his ear, the voice on the other end of the line distinctly Southern, and mildly confused. "Um, hello there. Can I speak with Charlotte please?"

He barely has a chance to get out, "Sure, just one second," before Charlotte snatches the phone from his fingers.

"Give me that," she hisses, shaking her head at him. She smells like flowers, and citrus, and clean. Cooper has to force his brain not to go places it shouldn't.

So he just shrugs and says, "You were almost done, I figured you'd want to take it."

She rolls her eyes and greets, "This is Charlotte." He watches her face fall from annoyed to serious before she says, "Hi, Judy. How's Big Daddy?"

"Big Daddy?" Cooper questions, before teasing, "Another horse?" Charlotte just glares. And then her face falls even more.

"Oh. Okay."

He gets the feeling this is something bad — a feeling that gets even more pronounced when she looks at him, and then heads for the bedroom, shutting the door behind her without another word. He heads back to the kitchen to give her some privacy — and it's a good thing he does, because the pasta has boiled over and is spilling all over her stovetop. He curses, takes the pot off the heat and drains the noodles, then wipes up the mess before pouring the jar of pasta sauce into the empty pan and putting it back on the heat. He checks the garlic bread, turns the oven down to warm.

It's a good fifteen minutes before Charlotte reappears, dressed in sweatpants and a plain t-shirt. Cooper's stomach drops when he sees her; he doesn't even have to ask to know something's very wrong. She looks a little shaken, her phone gripped loosely in her fingers, and she looks from him to the plate he's made for her and back before saying, "Forget about dinner. You should go."

Her voice is dull and soft, a little shaky.

"What's wrong? What happened?" he asks her.

She just shakes her head, tells him again that he should go, and then disappears into the living room. By the time he sets the plate down and follows her, she's on the sofa, booting up her laptop. He sits next to her.

"Char, talk to me. Who was on the phone?"

She shakes her head, doesn't say anything, so he cups her jaw gently with one hand and turns her face toward him. It's unnerving — this quiet from her. He's seen her close up and withdraw before, but this is different.

"Charlotte. Tell me. You can tell me."

She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and lets it out again, and just like that she looks a little more put-together. A little more herself. "Big Daddy's my father. He has lung cancer. That was his home care doctor." She turns her head away, focuses on putting her password into her computer and letting her desktop load. Then she tells him, quietly, "He went into respiratory failure this afternoon. They're holdin' the funeral until next week when I can get home, but I need to book a flight."

His heart breaks for her, physically hurts in sympathy for her loss. "God, Charlotte, I'm so sorry," he tells her, and she shakes her head.

"It's the way of life. It's fine."

"Charlotte, it's not fine-"

"Cooper," she says sharply, but he hears the slight waver in her voice at the end of it, sees the way she blinks rapidly as she keeps her eyes trained on her computer, opens her web browser. "Right now, I need it to be fine. And you should go."

"Hey," he urges softly, reaching for her shoulders, and trying to gently draw her into his arms. "Come here."

She resists, shrugs him off. "Don't."

"Char, it's okay to be upset right now. Just come here for a second, and let me-"

"Don't," she tells him again, stronger this time, giving him a warning look. She's just barely holding it together right now, he can tell.

"Your dad is dying," he tells her, "Let me just-"

"You think I don't know that?" she asks, harshly, her voice wavering again. "You think I don't…" She sniffles a little, and her shoulders shudder once with a something that was probably determined to be sob before it went up against Charlotte King and her refusal to show emotion. Tears are welling in her eyes, and she tilts her head down, in an obvious attempt to hide them from him.

She lets him reel her in just a little bit, then, lets him wrap his arms loosely around her shoulders. They rise and fall with every heavy breath she lets in and out. She's still trying to hold the tears back, and it's killing him. All he wants to do is make it better, make the pain go away. He can't help himself, he kisses her forehead, once, twice, a third time, and then she tips her head up to look at him.

He knows what's going to happen as soon as he sees her face. The look in her eyes, all vulnerable and needy, but just a little hot, a little desperate. She looks at his lips, his eyes, his lips again. She still smells clean and amazing, and now that he's this close, the scent clouds around him and makes him think of bubble baths and hot, steamy showers with her. Charlotte sucks in a breath, like she's steeling herself for something, and Cooper can't hold back any longer. He lets his mouth land on hers, soft and comforting at first, but it seems Charlotte's not in the mood for soft and comforting, because she's leaning into the kisses, hands finding his shirt and clutching, tugging him toward her.

There are all sorts of reasons he didn't want to do this again, but with her this close to him Cooper can't remember a single one. His arms go around her waist, and, God, he's missed this mouth. He kisses her back, eagerly, tongues tangling, breath mingling. He knows where this is going, and doesn't care. He doesn't care, because this day has had too much death — first an innocent kid, now Charlotte's dad — and he just wants to forget it all. Just wants to forget, and help her forget, and before he knows it, he's laying on top of her, sucking kisses over her neck, her collar. He can hear Charlotte's breath near his ear, feel her body arching up against his, the friction of their hips grinding together through several layers of cloth. She tugs his shirt from his waistband, trails her fingers underneath and over the skin of his back, and Cooper gropes to do the same. He actually moans out loud at the feel of her bare skin under his fingertips.

His mouth finds hers again, their kisses quick and hungry — and then she falters. She falters, and then her hands are at his shoulders, pushing at him, and Cooper levers up to give her some space. He's about to ask what's wrong, but as soon as there's room, she's got her hand between them, pressing the back of it to her mouth and breathing unevenly, her eyes screwed shut.

"Nauseous?" he asks, and she nods, a little frantically. He looks around for anything she can throw up in, but the nearest trash bin seems to be the kitchen. "Sit tight, I'll go grab something-"

"Mm-mm," she protests, shaking her head. Then she manages, tightly, "It'll pass. Maybe. Sometimes it passes at night."

"Okay, just breathe," he urges gently, studying her face. She's forced it to relax, but he catches the slight quiver of her chin, and can't ignore the dampness of tears smeared near her eye. He thinks about what they're doing, what they're about to do, and wonders if maybe it's a mistake to do it now. He'd called it this afternoon — if they went home together, they were bound to do something stupid, and this was exactly what he'd been thinking at the time. This isn't right for them. The timing's all wrong, the reasons are all wrong…

"I'm sorry," she murmurs, and he shakes his head and eases back from her even more, sitting up.

"It's alright," he assures. "Maybe it's a sign."

Her eyes open then, to glare at him. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Just that… maybe this isn't the right time for this. We're both upset, and we shouldn't, y'know, have sex for the wrong reasons."

Her brows raise slowly. "You've gotta be kiddin' me. When exactly did you start carin' about the right—" She cuts off, presses her fingers to her mouth again and shuts her eyes, swallows. "Oh, God."

Yeah, this isn't happening tonight.

"Okay, let's get you to the bathroom before you puke all over your nice white couch."

"No, I'm not done with this conversation yet." She sits up, slowly. "Cooper, my father is —" She cuts herself off, like she can't bear to even say the words again. "I need this, okay? Now. Tonight."

"Charlotte, it's not the right time," he says again, and why can't she see that he's trying to do the right thing here?

"Screw the right time," she argues back. "You can't tell me you don't want this." She reaches over and unceremoniously grabs the bulge in his slacks. Now it's Cooper that's swallowing hard, but for an entirely different (but not unpleasant) reason. "I know you do."

"Charlotte…" He draws her hand away, gently, then starts to lift it toward his mouth, so he can kiss her fingers. He doesn't even get close before she yanks her hand back, and levels him with a look full of fury and hurt feelings.

"How much longer are you gonna punish me for the practice, Cooper? And why, of all times, right now?"

"That's not what this is about," he tells her, wondering how exactly she made the leap from 'this is a bad time' to 'I'm punishing you.' "I just think that if we're going to have sex again, it should be because we want to get back together, not because we're upset about-"

"I do want to get back together!" she half yells at him. "I'm pretty sure I've made that clear."

"And I don't think tonight, after the day we've had, and what you just found out, is the time to decide that," he replies, trying to keep his voice from rising, trying to not let this become even more of a fight than it already is.

Charlotte shakes her head a little, and pushes herself to her feet.

"Get out."

"What?" Where the hell did that come from?

"I said, _get out_," she tells him again, pointing toward the door. "You don't want me, you can leave just like I said you should before. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go throw up, again, because of this stupid baby you got me pregnant with!"

She heads off toward the bathroom, and he starts to follow. "Charlotte, wait."

She doesn't even turn to look at him, just hollers back, "Don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out!"

She's picked up the pace, and he stops at the beginning of the hallway, watching as she disappears into the bathroom and slams the door behind her. He hears the rush of the tap a second later, and a moment after that, the gagging it can't quite cover. He wants to stay, wants to talk to her until she hears what he's actually trying to say to her, but tonight, right now, he doesn't think it'll do much good. Maybe she'll listen tomorrow, when she's had a chance to cool down, and absorb the bad news she got tonight.

So he goes back to the living room, collects his things, swipes her spare key from the kitchen drawer and uses it to lock the door and deadbolt behind him as he leaves.

All the while, he's kicking himself for letting things get out of hand in the first place, and thinking that as far as bad days go, this is one of the worst he's had in years.


	9. Chapter 9

Charlotte's laying on the bathroom floor when she hears her phone ring. She's done throwing up, but the tile feels cool against her cheek, and she's just not ready to get up yet. She's giving herself just a little bit of time right now to wallow. Now, while she's alone, and there's nobody to see. She feels heavy — like her limbs are weighted, and like there's a big lead lump where her heart should be.

She's thinkin' about Big Daddy, about how she's heard his voice for the last time. She'd called a week and a half ago, and promised she'd come home, soon, when she could. A couple of months, maybe. She hadn't mentioned the baby. She shuts her eyes, squeezes them tight, presses a hand to her belly. He'll never know. He's about to be a granddaddy for the first time, and he'll never know. She should've gone home sooner. Should've taken time off before she started at the practice and… no. Stop this.

He's still alive, she reminds herself. Nothin' left of him to speak of, and she'll never get to talk to him again. Ever. But his heart's still beatin', there's still air bein' pushed in and out of his lungs. _Focus on that, Charlotte_, she tells herself. _Get up off this floor._

He'd be so ashamed of her, lyin' here feelin' sorry for herself. Regrettin' her choices.

Time to get up. Time to move on.

So she rolls from her side to her back, wipes away the few tears making her cheeks itch, and then sits up. She sits, and then she stands, splashes some cool water on her face and blots it dry with the hand towel. She's done wallowing. She has a flight to book.

Her phone has long stopped ringing when she gets to the living room, so she reaches for it to check the missed calls. She figures it'll be Cooper (selfish bastard), but it's not. It's Landry. Shit. That's what she gets for lettin' herself feel all sad and stupid — missed phone calls from the little brothers who need her.

She hits the redial, and it's not more than two rings before he picks up.

"Charlie," he starts in, and she can tell already that he's pissed about somethin'. "Please tell me Judy was wrong when she said you couldn't come home for Big Daddy's funeral because you have to work."

"I didn't tell her that," Charlotte defends with a frown. "I told her I needed y'all to wait on the funeral until later in the week, because I can't make it home until Tuesday night."

"Because you have to work."

"Because I have a meeting with the hospital board on Tuesday morning and it can't be moved, yes," Charlotte explains. She can already tell this conversation is gonna give her a headache.

"And that's more important to you than your own father's funeral?"

"No, Landry, it's not more important," she sighs, waking her computer up from sleep mode, and picking up where she left off before she and Cooper went all haywire. "But there's nothin' I can do about it. I can't miss the meetin', and I can't move the meetin', and Big Daddy's not goin' anywhere, so I don't see why this is an issue."

She pulls up the Expedia website, starts putting in airport codes. LAX to MGM. Out on Tuesday afternoon, return on Thursday night. She and Judy had talked it all out, quick and efficient like the medical professionals they are. Judy had said she'd strong-arm the Kings into it if need be; clearly she'd had a hold-out.

"It's an issue because… because… because it's disrespectful, havin' him just lay there for half a week!"

He's half-drunk, she realizes. He's slurring his words just a little. She can't say she's surprised, or that she blames him. Hell, if she wasn't pregnant, she'd probably be pounding down martinis in her kitchen by now, too. Still, she's had a long day, and she's already ready to be done with this conversation.

"No, it's an issue because you're pissed and you need someone to yell at, Landry. I'm comin' home as soon as I can, but there's nothin' I can do about this. My hands are tied."

She'll have to connect in Dallas — no surprise. Same as always.

"Well, I don't appreciate you makin' funeral plans with Big Daddy's nurse instead of your own family."

Charlotte feels the snap of rage — sudden, sharp, her skin going hot. The words shoot from her mouth like bullets: "And I don't appreciate findin' out my father's all but dead from his nurse instead of my own family. You'd think maybe one of you coulda pulled it together enough to call me your own damn selves. But no. No. I get a call from Judy — not from you, not from Duke, not from Momma. Judy. He's my father, Landry, he's our _father_, and you couldn't even be bothered to call. So yes, I made plans with Judy. And those are the plans, Landry, that's it. I'm layin' down the law on this. I can't get there until Tuesday night, so you will hold him until then. Funeral on Thursday, and I'll fly back that night. Done. End of story."

"You're not even stayin' for two whole days?" he asks, and she hears the dull thud of a lowball glass hitting the table. "Can't even be bothered to -"

"Landry, enough!" she barks. "I run a hospital, I run a practice, I can't just take off for a week at a moment's notice. I have obligations here, and I'm sorry if that bothers you, but there's not a damned thing I can do about it! You think I wouldn't rather be home? You think I wouldn't rather take the whole week, and see you, and Momma, and Duke, and—"

"No, I don't!" he argues back, voice raised just shy of a holler. "I don't think you'd rather be here with your family than off bein' a big important doctor!"

"Well, you're wrong!" She's definitely hollering now, and much to her horror, her voice breaks on the last word. No. No, no, no. She will not cry. Not now. Not on the phone with her brother. Not ever. Not at all. She sucks in a breath, deep and cleansing, squeezes her eyes shut and makes sure her voice is even whens he repeats, "You're wrong. If I could change it, I could. If it was another week, I'd be there. But I can't, Landry. I just… I can't. So please don't make this harder, alright?"

She hears him sigh, and then hears the clink of ice in his glass before he says, "Alright, Charlie. Forget it. Funeral'll be Thursday, and we'll expect you Tuesday night." His voice has gone all defeated, and she knows then that he heard the emotion in her. Workin' her up to tears is one of the few things that can call Landry off a fight, and it looks like she's done it. She'll take it tonight, though, if it gets her out of this argument.

"Thank you," she mutters, turning her attention back to the webpage, clicking _Book Now_, and waiting for the payment page to load. "How's Momma, and Duke?"

"Momma's in her room, Duke's just gettin' off work. I figured I'd wait to tell him 'til he got home."

Charlotte shuts her eyes, thinks of her baby brother on his way home, unaware of the awful news waitin' on him. Her heart aches even more, then. She oughta be there. Now. "Alright. Check in on Momma now and then, make sure she's in a stupor, not a coma?"

"I will, Charlie. You need a ride from the airport on Tuesday?" he asks, and she marvels, not for the first time, at their ability to slide from a fight straight into conversation. Then again, they've had decades of practice.

"Don't worry about it," Charlotte says. "I'll take care of that; you just take care of Duke and Momma until I get there."

"Don't I always?"

Before she can answer, she hears a voice call out in the background — Duke's voice. He's home.

"You should go," she tells Landry. "I'll send you my flight info, so you'll know when to expect me."

"Alright. See you soon."

"Yep."

"Hey, Charlie—" he starts, going silent until she gives him a _Hmm?_ "I, uh — Well, I love ya. That's all."

Well, shit. Tears spring to her eyes immediately, and she keeps her voice quiet in an attempt to hide them when she tells him, "I love ya, too. But if you tell anyone I said so, I'll call you a liar," she teases, earning herself a chuckle from her brother.

"I wouldn't dare. I've gotta go."

"Yeah. I'll be home soon."

"Yep." She hears Duke's voice coming closer in the background, but can't make out what he's saying. "See you then."

And then the line goes silent, and Charlotte just sits there, staring at the words on her computer screen for a minute. Name. Address. Card number. They could be in Greek for as much as she's comprehending them right now.

And then she takes a deep breath, clears her mind, and enters her credit card number from memory.

This is gonna be a long, long weekend.


	10. Chapter 10

Cooper is in the middle of his usual Sunday night call to his parents, but all he can think about is Charlotte. He's tried to call her, but she hasn't answered, and she managed to evade him all day on Friday. It's killing him, not knowing how she's doing, how she's coping. Killing him thinking she's still mad at him, when all he was trying to do was the right thing. He hadn't realized how much he really cared about her until now. Now, when she's in so much pain, and there's nothing he can do. He wants to be with her — to just sit with her and hold her hand, to go home with her and be there for her at the funeral.

His mother pulls him out of his thoughts, suddenly, with a "Cooper? Cooper, are you listening?"

"Uh, yeah," he says, trying to remember what she'd been saying. "You were talking about Aunt Zelda having that mole removed…"

"No, I was talking about your cousin Tracy getting hired at the university. We stopped talking about Aunt Zelda ten minutes ago."

Crap.

"Sorry, mom. I'm paying attention, I swear, I just got distracted for a minute…"

He wasn't paying attention at all, clearly, but she doesn't need to know that.

"You've been awfully distracted all night, sweetie. Why don't you tell me what's really bothering you?"

Cooper feels his gut twist with nerves. There's a laundry list of things bothering him right now, including one really big thing (or, more accurately, a really small thing) that he really should tell his parents. He's about to tell his mother that he's just upset about losing a patient this week, but what comes out is, "I got Charlotte pregnant." He hears himself say it, then hears himself say, "We're having a baby. I've been meaning to tell you, I just… didn't know how."

It's quiet for a second, and Cooper never knew silence could be so loud.

"Mom?"

"How long have you known?" she asks him, her voice carefully even.

"A couple of weeks," he tells her, scrubbing a hand over his face. "I've been trying to figure out how to tell you and dad, I just could never find the right way."

"I thought the two of you broke up, weeks ago-"

"We did."

"She went behind your back and opened that other practice, and you were furious. You've been furious with her, Cooper; I don't understand how this happened."

"Well, I got her pregnant before I was furious with her, Mom," he says, shutting his eyes and leaning his head back against the couch. "It's not like I made a decision to make a baby with her. The birth control failed-"

"Are you sure she was taking it?"

"Yes," he tells her, and he knows without a doubt that he's right about that one. "Trust me, Charlotte's not the type to skip out on her birth control. A pregnancy's the last thing she wanted."

As soon as it's out of his mouth, it occurs to him that maybe it was the wrong thing to say. Sure enough, his mother hops right on it.

"She doesn't want this baby?" his mother asks immediately. "Cooper, if she doesn't want to have a baby, you're in for a world of trouble. Raising a child with someone who's only a parent because the birth control failed is a recipe for-"

"Mom, stop," he interrupts, banging his head lightly against the back of the couch in frustration. Maybe he shouldn't have told them yet, after all. "Just stop, okay. She's pregnant, we've decided to raise the baby together. It's unexpected, but we're both on board. And I know it's not ideal, but it would be nice if you could at least try to be supportive, because… I'm going to be a dad soon, and I have no idea what I'm doing, and I'm really going to need you and dad to be there for me — for us. Okay? Just… can you please try? I know you don't like her, but can you try, for me?"

"It's not that we don't like her, dear, it's that we don't know her. And what you've told us about her… well, she just doesn't seem like the best match for you."

"Okay, um, then I'll tell you more," he says. "She's smart — really smart. She finished high school a year early, got early admittance into college, and was the youngest graduate in her class at Johns Hopkins. She's a brilliant doctor — she's logical, and pragmatic, and she's organized. And, yes, okay, she's stubborn, and ruthless, and sometimes cold, but she's made it a long way on that — on the combination of the good and the bad." This isn't helping, he thinks… "And she's funny. She has this really quick wit, and she makes jokes about things that really shouldn't be funny, but we're doctors, so, y'know… we have to. To make it through the day sometimes, we have to. And she has this really tough exterior, but she's not all hard. We were watching TV one night, and I swear she got all teary over a Campbell's soup commercial. She, uh, she got up and went to the bathroom, and I'm pretty sure she thinks she got away with it, but I saw her wiping her eyes, and…"

"Cooper…"

"Her dad's dying," he says, opening his eyes again and staring at the ceiling. "In fact, he's pretty much dead. He had cancer, went into respiratory failure, and they're keeping him on life support until she can get home, and it's breaking her heart, Mom. I was there when she found out, and the way she just shut down… That's what's distracting me. That's what's wrong. She found out her dad was dying, and I'd had a patient die on me that day that shouldn't have died, and we were both hurting, and one thing led to another, but I stopped it before we did something we'd regret, and now she's mad at me. She thinks I'm punishing her for the practice, and she's mad, and she won't talk to me, and I just… I want her to talk to me. I want to know she's okay."

"Well," his mother says, not quite warmly. Her voice softens, though, when she continues, "It sounds like you're still quite in love with her."

"We're not together," Cooper says.

"I didn't say you were. But clearly, there are strong feelings there, and if she's going to be a part of your life… well, then, I guess we'll have to make room for her in ours. I'll talk to your father when he gets home, and let him know what's going on. We'll try to be supportive. For you. But I would like to get to know her better at some point, before the baby is born. Maybe your father and I could come for a visit."

"I'll have to talk to Charlotte about it… She's got a lot going on right now, but maybe in a few weeks." Charlotte's gonna kill him, but he knows his mother won't back down and this, and she's being surprisingly accepting of the whole thing, so he'll just have to face the wrath of Charlotte King with a brave face. "And thank you for being supportive," he adds.

"So," his mother says, "When can we expect this new grandchild?"

"Well. She told me, uh…" Cooper does some quick math in this head. "Three Tuesdays ago. And she was six weeks pregnant then, which means she's nine now. So, you'll have a new baby to spoil rotten in about 31 weeks."

"Good, good," she says, sounding a little distracted. "Your father just got home, dear. Do you want to go ahead and tell him the news yourself, or should I?"

Cooper, sighs, shuts his eyes, and figures if he survived telling his mom, he can make it through telling his dad. "I'll tell him. Put him on."

She puts him on speaker, and Cooper makes the announcement again. His dad takes things surprisingly well, and they spend the next half hour talking, the three of them, about how things are going to change for him, and what this means, and about the possibility of coming out to meet Charlotte before the baby is born. All in all, it goes better than he'd expected, and while Cooper doesn't necessarily feel better about everything when he hangs up the phone, he at least feels lighter. He's told Violet, he's told his parents, and now this thing, this big life change that's coming, seems less daunting.

Now, all he has to worry about is getting Charlotte through this week. He checks his phone when he hangs up with his parents, but she hasn't called, or texted. He texts her again for good measure, asking her to please call him, but when he goes to bed an hour and a half later, she still hasn't responded.

Tomorrow, he tells himself. He'll find her tomorrow, and make things right. First thing.


	11. Chapter 11

**_Author's Note: _**_I know I said I wasn't going to post tonight, but, well, I ended up having computer access I didn't think I'd have. So. New chapter!_

* * *

><p>Cooper gets up early, and drags himself in to the hospital at the ungodly hour he knows Charlotte starts work these days. 7am is way earlier than he thinks any healthy person should be at work, but working two jobs means working longer hours, so she's here. He expects to find her in her office, but she's not there, so he has to sweet-talk several nurses into pointing him in her direction. She's in oncology, talking to another doctor, and unfortunately for Cooper, she catches sight of him when he's still almost halfway across the room from her. He watches her face shift into a frown, tighten up and shut down, and she wraps up her conversation in no time and starts walking in the opposite direction.<p>

His legs are longer, though, so he barely has to jog to catch up to her as she turns down a hallway. "Charlotte, come on. Talk to me," he sighs. She doesn't even look at him.

"Nothin' to talk about," she says coldly.

"I'm pretty sure there is," he disagrees, and even with his longer legs, he's having a hard time keeping up with her now.

"Cooper, I'm workin' here."

"Yeah, I know. And I'm here, two hours before I need to be at work, because I want to talk about what happened." She doesn't respond. "I want to make sure you're okay." She makes a face, then, like she's disgusted with him. "C'mon, Charlotte, I was trying to do the right thing." She just keeps walking.

"I want to go home with you," he tells her, and that gets her attention, finally. She stops, and he takes the opening to step in front of her and block her path.

"What?"

"I want to go home with you, for the funeral," he repeats, watching her face go slightly suspicious. "I know this is hard for you, even if you don't want to admit it. And I want to be there for you, and-"

"No, thanks. I do not need your pity, Cooper."

"I don't pity you. It's not pity. I care about you. And you're hurting, and I'm worried, and I want to be there for you. And what happened the other night… I didn't do it to punish you."

She crosses her arms, tosses her hair a little, and questions doubtfully, "So you're not still upset about the practice?"

"Well, yes, I'm upset," he admits, and she rolls her eyes and tries to barrel past him. Cooper catches her by the forearm, and the momentum of her own movement spins her back to him.

"Okay, just stop," he tells her, exasperated. "Stop and listen for a second." She lifts her brows at him, as if she's giving him the go-ahead, but she doesn't speak and he doesn't let go of her arm. "Yes, I'm still upset about the practice, but I'm not holding it against you. I love you, and I miss you, and you hurt me. Okay?" Her face has softened just a little, but she hasn't let her guard down yet. Not really. He doesn't really want it to go back up, but he wants them to finally talk this whole thing out, so he continues, "I trusted you, and you hurt me. I told you something, and you used it to hurt my practice-"

"I did it to help your practice," she interrupts, and now Cooper's really confused.

His brow furrows, his grip loosens on her arm. "You what now?"

Charlotte huffs a sigh, and leads him to a quieter corner of the hallway. "You kept goin' on and on about how the practice was gonna go under, and you weren't gonna have a job, and how you were so useless. And then you mentioned the space for lease, and I knew if I could provide a space, it'd give me a leg up on gettin' the job, so yes, it was selfishly motivated, but I also did it for you." Well. That's news. He'd never thought of it in that light before. "Leasin' that floor to Pacific Wellcare kept your practice afloat, so before you go tellin' me how awful I was for doin' it, maybe try thinkin' about why I might have done it. You know, aside from tryin' to bury your practice," she bites, and clearly that's a sore spot for her, because she shakes her head and adds, "Why the hell would I set out to do that, Cooper?"

"That's what I've been trying to figure out," he says, letting his hand finally go lax around her arm, since it doesn't look like she's going anywhere. "And, okay, yes, I can see how your practice might help mine in theory, but you've choked off our referrals, you're actively trying to lure our patients as soon as they walk in the building. You've been totally up front about wanting to compete with us."

She can't honestly say her intentions have been nothing but helpful this whole time — not with the breakfast bar, and the free coffee, and the billboards out front, and the snooty doctors luring their patients away… He could go on, but it just makes him angry to think about it, so he doesn't.

"I'm tryin' to keep my job, Cooper," Charlotte defends. "I'm tryin' to build up this practice, and yes, maybe I was tryin' to stick it to you a little, but you were bein' a jerk. An unforgiving, frustrating, impossible jerk. You wouldn't let me explain, or even apologize, and — lets just say that by the time Pacific opened, my charitable feelings toward your practice weren't exactly running high anymore." She takes a breath and lets that land, and Cooper's torn between thinking she was awfully petty and wondering if he should feel guilty for bringing the wrath of Charlotte King down on his practice. He's leaning toward _awfully petty_ at the moment. "And it's not like Oceanside can't stand on it's own — you have Addison Montgomery and Naomi Bennet, two highly sought-after doctors in a very specific field. You've got your baby-family-whole-wellness thing goin' on. Pacific has research, and clinical trials, and we pay the bills with our GPs, and peds, and psych docs, but it's not like you were the only doctors in Santa Monica before my practice opened. People keep gettin' sick, people keep needin' doctors, and havin' a few more in the building won't bury a strong practice."

Those are all good points, but none of them change the fact that what she did was hurtful. That she took advantage of his trust, that she deceived him, that she made things harder for him and did it with a smile and a 'this is my job; step up' attitude the whole time. So he shakes his head and tells her, "Okay, see, it's like you don't even understand why what you did is wrong."

She opens her hands, looks for all the world like _he's _ the one being difficult. "I have apologized," she points out. "I've said I should've told you, and —" She's suddenly exasperated — moreso, anyway — and scowling even harder at him. "And did you come here to pick a fight with me or make up? Because when you walked in here it seemed a lot more like the latter, but now I'm not so sure."

She's right, he realizes. He came here to make amends, and here they are fighting again. As usual. How they're ever going to raise a kid together, he has no idea. Not unless they figure out how to keep this from happening every time they're in a room together.

He figures one of them has to extend the olive branch first, and he came here to do that in the first place, so he takes a deep breath, and says, "I didn't come here to pick a fight. I'm sorry." She nods, crosses her arms again, but it seems more protective than angry this time. Like she's not sure what else to do with them, and like maybe these conversations are just as hard for her as they are for him. Except the difference is, he's standing here, open, and she's keeping him at a distance. And there's the problem, really, isn't it? "I want you back," he tells her, and her eyes snap back up to his. "But I don't want to want you back." They dart to the side now, her head following, and her frown deepens. He's jerking her around, that's what she's thinking right now, he can tell just by looking at her. Pregnancy has done a number on her poker face. Or maybe he just knows her better than she'd like. "I don't want to be hurt by you again," Cooper explains, "because it makes me miserable. I've been miserable without you, Charlotte, and I don't want to try again, and fall apart again, and be miserable like this again. But I don't want you to feel like you're being punished, because that's not what I'm trying to do. I just… I need to know that I can trust you if I'm going to be with you again, and right now, I don't know that."

Her scowl falls away, for the first time since he walked up to her. Her mouth opens a little, and he sees her tongue swipe out against her lips before she glances side to side like she's checking for witnesses, and then asks, quietly, "What can I do to change that?"

Cooper blows out a breath. He doesn't know what he was expecting, but that question wasn't it. Especially not coupled with the open vulnerability in her voice. She wants this, she really does, and he wishes he had an answer for her, but trust isn't that simple. So he's forced to tell her, "I don't know."

She lets out a single, mirthless chuckle, and doesn't meet his eyes. They stand there for a few seconds in silence, in the midst of their broken relationship. Then, Charlotte says to him, "I don't want you comin' home with me."

The vulnerability is gone, she's stitched up tight again. Damnit. "Charlotte, don't make that about us. I want to go with you-"

"Cooper, we're not together," she reminds him, bitterly. "And I don't need a babysitter, or someone to hold my hand. I just need to go home, do what needs to be done, and get back here. Besides, how am I supposed to introduce you? What, exactly, am I supposed to say when my family asks who this man is that I brought home?"

Cooper shrugs. "'Hi, this is Cooper, he's the father of the baby, and he's here to support me?'" he suggests.

Charlotte scoffs at him. "You really do not know my family. And my family doesn't know I'm pregnant, so introducin' you as my baby-daddy probably wouldn't go over very well."

"You haven't told them yet?" he asks, confused. She's known for a month; how can she not have told her family? He's struck suddenly with the knowledge that she probably hasn't told _anyone. _ Her doctor, and him, and that's it. He feels marginally guilty for telling Violet now.

"No. I haven't. And I don't intend to for a while, yet." Her fingers squeeze against her biceps, and he wonders if keeping a secret like this is lonely for her. "This isn't the time for somethin' like that."

"You're going home, and you're going to try to keep it from them?"

"Yes."

Cooper hates to point out the obvious, but, "How are you going to explain the throwing up several times a day?"

Now Charlotte's the one shrugging — just one shoulder, sharply. "I'll tell 'em I have the flu. I really think we'll have other, more pressing things to worry about than me not bein' able to keep my lunch down."

She's right, but he's been to plenty of funerals in his day and in his experience, people tend to spend time looking for anything other than death that they can focus on.

"You're sure I can't come with you?" he asks, and she gives him such an exasperated look that he almost laughs.

"_Yes_, I'm sure, Cooper. I can handle it on my own."

"Can I at least drive you to the airport?"

"You are one persistent sonofabitch," she mutters, shaking her head again. "I'm leavin' as soon as I can tomorrow, it's an afternoon flight, you'll be busy with patients. Cooper, I swear, I'm fine." She glances down the hallway, toward the nurses' desk, and adds, "Speakin' of patients, I'm sure you've got some you need to check in on, and I'm busy, too. If I'm ever gonna get out of here on time tomorrow, I don't have time to waste chattin'. Can we please get back to work?"

She's right, he supposes, and he doesn't want her working herself too hard today, so he relents. "Fine. Just do me a favor and give me your flight itinerary, okay? I want to know where you and that little peanut are gonna be."

Charlotte smiles in spite of herself, and nods. "Okay," she agrees. "I'll email it to you."

"Good," he says with a nod, settling his hands on her shoulders for a second and squeezing. "You'll let me know if you change your mind, right?"

"I won't."

He expected as much, so he just nods again, and says his goodbyes. He makes a mental note to check up on her tomorrow morning, if he can track her down. If she looks like she's going to need him, he might just go home with her whether she wants him to or not.


	12. Chapter 12

They're talking about God knows what when Charlotte breezes into the Oceanside Wellness kitchen. It's a full house in there today - Sam has his head in the fridge, Pete's peeling the cap off a carton of yogurt as he heads for the island, Cooper's on the far side of the kitchen, all wrapped up in a conversation with Violet. Shocker. She's looking for Addison, who's sitting at the island munching on a sandwich. She needs some rounds covered at the hospital, and if anyone's gonna be left in charge of the tiny, needy babies while she's gone, she wants it to be Addison Montgomery.

"Montgomery, can I speak to you for a minute?" she asks, and no sooner than she gets the words out does the smell hit her. Pungent. Sickening. She feels her stomach lurch a little and grimaces. "God, what are you eating?"

Addison's brow furrows as she swallows, and answers, "Tuna sandwich."

Tuna sandwich. She used to love tuna. Apparently, it's joined the ranks of eggs, sausage, and lobster salad in the list of things that make her want to hurl. In fact, she has just enough time to think that before she's sucker-punched by a wave of nausea so fierce she knee-jerks for the closest barf-bin she can find. This morning's blueberry bagel — dry, untoasted — splatters itself all over the inside of the kitchen trash bin, and she's just barely aware of Sam's startled "Whoa!" and Addison's, "Okay, wow," before strong hands are gripping her by the shoulders and spinning her around until she's looking at stainless steel instead of spent coffee grounds and the last of someone's lunch.

Of course the violent spin it took her to get to the sink just makes the nausea worse, and she's hurling up another round of bagel as one of those strong hands settles between her shoulder blades. She's honestly surprised when the voice that soothes her is Pete and not Cooper, but she supposes she shouldn't be, considering Cooper was a good five feet away from her when the upchucking began.

"Sticking your head in a trash bin full of leftovers probably isn't the way to quell the nausea," he tells her, and it's the tone more than the words that are soothing, which she's fine with. Being treated with kid gloves would only make this whole thing more humiliating.

She nods, takes a deep breath to calm herself — then retches again. Goddamned, ridiculous pregnancy sickness. Makes her life hell every damned day.

Pete's fingers find her wrists, slide over her skin a little and then press hard. Charlotte's about to ask what the hell he's doing when she feels the nausea abate just a little. She stays put as Cooper appears at her side, reaching around her to flip the tap on and wash the sick down the drain, one hand settling on her back just like Pete's had. She shrugs him off — especially when he shushes her gently, and tells her it's gonna be okay. Doesn't he think she knows that? She's a grown woman, she can barf on her own. And she'll tell him that, just as soon as she stops feeling like she's about to heave up her stomach lining.

Which, it turns out, might be quite soon, because the waves of nausea are smoothing out, melting away, and in just about another minute she's lifting her head to look at Pete with red, watery eyes.

"What are you doin'?"

"Acupressure," he tells her. "Measure three fingers down from your wrist and press hard for three minutes. It relieves nausea."

"Huh," she marvels, appreciative. "Thanks."

Cooper finally speaks up next to her, quietly, but not as quietly as she'd like. "You need to talk to Addison about this — before you leave. You can't be sick like this every day; you have to be able to eat something and keep it down. And if you insist on keeping it to yourself-"

"Cooper," she hisses, reaching for the paper towel he offers. "Enough. I'm fine."

"You don't look fine," Sam tells her, grimacing from the other side of the kitchen. Charlotte uses the paper towel to dab at the smear of tears on one cheek, and blow her nose.

"Talk to me about what?" Addison asks, but Charlotte can tell from the tone of her voice — and the look on her face as soon as she glances in that direction — that she's got her number already.

Cooper just looks at Charlotte expectantly. She doesn't say anything; it's none of their damned business.

"Oh, for God's sake," Violet sighs. "Charlotte's pregnant, she has really bad morning sickness, Cooper's been trying to get her to talk to you about it, but she won't."

Charlotte levels Cooper with a look. "What did I tell you about tellin' people?"

"It's Violet," Cooper reasons, and Charlotte shakes her head. It's not like she didn't know — of course he told Violet — she just had this naive hope that maybe this time he'd keep his trap shut about something when she asked him to.

"Wait, can we back up to the part where you're pregnant?" Sam asks. "As in, the two of you are pregnant?"

Looks like the jig is up. Goddamnit.

"Yes, Sam," Charlotte snaps. "The birth control failed, we're havin' a baby, I'm pukin' my guts up all day, and Sir Talks-A-Lot over here seems to think it's everyone's damned business."

"Hey, I only told Violet."

"To be fair, the sensitivity to smell and sudden puking was a pretty good giveaway," Addison defends, and it's only then that Charlotte notices the offending tuna sandwich has been Ziplocced on the table in front of her. It's a small consideration, but she appreciates it. The smell is still hanging in the air, making her a little queasy, but it's certainly better than it was. "And if the morning sickness is really that bad, I can prescribe something for it, but you may want to start off by working with Pete. The less crap you can put in your body while you're pregnant, the better."

Charlotte casts a somewhat suspicious glance his way. "You got anything better to offer than squeezin' my arms?"

"Squeezing your arms worked, didn't it?" he challenges.

She has to give him that, she figures, lifting an eyebrow and nodding a little. "I guess."

"If you're interested, you can come in for a consult. We can talk about your symptoms, and discuss some of the holistic options available."

She looks him up and down, scowls. "You know how I feel about what you do."

Pete chuckles, shakes his head at her. "Yeah, you remind me every time you come in for something. Which you've kept doing, because what I do works."

She has to give him that. "Fine. You free right now?"

He glances at his watch. "I've got a few minutes, yeah. Do you want to step into my office?"

**.::.**

A few minutes later, Charlotte is perched on the massage table in Pete's office; he's sitting on a chair next to it, with what's presumably her chart in his hands, pen at the ready.

"So. Talk to me. Tell me what's going on."

"I'm joinin' the Olympic pukin' team. Goin' for the gold, Pete. I'm gonna be the world pukin' champion, just you wait."

He laughs at her, shaking his head, and then asks, "Is it more common in the morning, evening, all day?"

"Worst in the mornin', gets a little better during the afternoon, and then worse again at night, sometimes."

"Sensitivity to smell is obviously a problem."

She scoffs a little. "You could say that, yeah. I had to get rid of the eggs in our breakfast bar — couldn't stand the smell. Breakfast is awful - eggs, sausage, bacon, all of it. I can't even walk by the hospital cafeteria before noon anymore, not unless I want to be gaggin' into the nearest trash can."

"Okay," he jots something down, and Charlotte cranes her neck to try to see what it is.

Pete tips the chart toward himself, and gives her a look. "I'm taking notes. It's what doctors do. Are you going to trust me to be your doctor, or are you going to question everything I do, like last time?"

Charlotte settles back down, shifts a little to get comfortable. "I'm nosy. Especially in this place, where I know everyone will see everything you write."

"They won't," Pete tells her, and Charlotte raises a suspicious brow. "They won't," he repeats. "This is my private file for you; it stays in here. Anything you tell me in here stays with me, unless I need to refer you to another doctor in the practice."

Well, that's something. Charlotte nods a little, says, "Okay. Fine," and tries to relax. Her belly's still all wobbly. "Keep askin' questions."

"How far along are you?"

"Ten weeks, two days."

He writes it down on the chart, telling her, "You're getting near the end of your first trimester. Hopefully the nausea will clear up a little in a few weeks, but if it's been as bad as you make it seem, it could persist."

"Great," Charlotte mutters, and Pete offers her a supportive smile. She thinks it's genuine, but she still kind of wants to smack it off his face. She has no illusions about how the doctors of Oceanside Wellness feel about her, and she doesn't want pity, or sympathy, or any of that crap. She just wants to feel better.

"How are you eating?" Pete continues with the questioning. "When, what, how much of it are you throwing up?"

"I try for breakfast," she tells him, "when I don't already feel like I'm gonna hurl up my insides. Which is most days, to be honest, so I guess I don't usually eat until around eleven. Usually just a bagel, or some toast, fruit, somethin' I can grab and eat fast. That usually sits okay, and then if I have time, I'll eat again sometime in the afternoon. Same kind of stuff — bananas are good, I'm damn near livin' on apple sauce and toast. Dinner's touch-and-go, it depends on how I feel by the time I get home. I try to eat somethin', but lately I'm so tired I come home and go straight to bed."

"So you're basically on the BRAT diet, then?"

Charlotte nods — it hadn't occurred to her yet, but that's exactly what she's been on. Bananas, apple sauce, toast — all she's missing is the rice. She makes a mental note to buy some on the way home — at least it'll feel more like dinner than toast. "Yeah, I guess. I'm…"

She looks at him then, chews her lip, debates opening up and telling him what she wants to right now. She glances at the chart, remembers what he said about it being confidential. What the hell, why not? If he's gonna be her doctor now, she's gonna have to be honest with him.

"At this point, when I look at other stuff, other food, even if it looks good… I just don't want it. I'm so sick of throwin' up, Pete," she admits. "I know I should eat more stuff, I know I need all sorts of nutrients I can't get from what I've been eatin', but… I can't be throwin' up all day, I don't have time for that. But I miss food, and I feel like I'm not…" She takes a deep breath and says, "I feel like I'm not takin' care of this kid the way I'm supposed to, but it doesn't do me or it any good to eat somethin' I won't keep down, and I have this irrational fear that I'm gonna puke myself into a miscarriage, or that if I take somethin' for it, we'll find out fifteen years down the road that it causes cancer, or somethin', and what's a couple months of pukin' if it means this baby ends up safe and healthy, y'know?"

Pete smiles at her - amused but not patronizing. "Look at you, sounding like a worried mom."

Charlotte shrugs a shoulder. "I'm stuck with the little sea monkey, what else am I supposed to be?"

He laughs at her again, a little, and then says, "Healthy. You're not eating enough right now; you can't live on one meal a day, especially not when you're pregnant. Is the nausea worse in the evening if you haven't managed to eat again in the afternoon?"

Charlotte frowns, tries to think. "I guess? Maybe?"

"Morning sickness is worst in the morning because your stomach is empty. When you get too hungry, the nausea gets worse. I'm guessing afternoons are better for you because it sounds like they're just about the only time you have much in your stomach."

"Oh." It's so simple, and so obvious, and she should know this — in fact, she does know this. She's known this for ages, she'd just… forgotten. Too busy tossin' her cookies every day to remember the advice she's heard countless doctors give to pregnant patients over the years. Doctors really do make the worst patients, she thinks to herself.

"Yeah," Pete says. "Try keeping things around that you can snack on. Keep some crackers in your nightstand, eat a couple before you get out of bed in the morning so you're not starting your day on empty. Throw some Cheerios in your desk, toss back a handful every now and then so you don't get too hungry between meals. Things like that. You can stick with the bland stuff for breakfast, but you've got to start getting some protein in for lunch and dinner. It should be easier to keep down if you start your day better. And if you manage to eat more, you probably won't be so tired. Are you taking a prenatal multi?"

"I try, but I couldn't take vitamins on an empty stomach even before I was pregnant. So I take it in the morning, but it doesn't always stay down."

"Take it with lunch," he tells her with a shrug.

"Lunch is the only thing I don't throw up," she reminds him. "I don't want to add somethin' to it that's just gonna upset my stomach."

"Charlotte, lunch is the only thing you don't throw up," he repeats her own words back to her, pointedly. "You have to take the vitamins with it, or that kid's not gonna get them," he reasons. "Go bland for breakfast, make time for a decent lunch — but not too big. Small, frequent meals. Try sipping on peppermint tea, or — do you like ginger ale?"

"Oh God, I'm livin' on it," she tells him. "I'm about to buy stock in Canada Dry. It's the only thing that helps, half the time."

"Have you ever had the real stuff — made with actual ginger."

Charlotte makes a face. "Once, yeah. Cooper and I went to this sushi place and I made the mistake of gettin' it. It was gross."

"It's just stronger than you're used to. Try cutting it half and half with what you've been drinking. It'll be more effective than the soda, but taste a little better than having the real stuff straight."

Charlotte nods, rubs her hand over her belly absently. "Fine. I'll try it. And, uh, no offense, but at some point are you gonna start givin' me any treatment I couldn't find on Google? Because I'm sure all this'll help, but… I need somethin' more than 'change the way you eat.' I need somethin' that'll make this better, Pete. I'm so sick of bein' sick. I'm exhausted — I've never been so tired. I'm workin 16, 18 hour days—"

"Well, there's half your problem," he tells her, shaking his head and standing, heading for one of his cabinets. "You're working too much; you need to slow down."

"Slowin' down isn't somethin' I have the option of doin' right now," she tells him, before adding, "And I don't have time to be sick like this. I need somethin' that'll work now, I need somethin' that'll work even on the days I can't get in a whole bunch of little meals. I need you to fix me again, okay? I know I criticize your work, but… you got me to sleep when nothin' else would, and you've kept doin' it ever since. So. Fix me. Please."

"I will. And I like how you managed to insult me and tell me you need me all in the same little diatribe there, by the way," he tells her. "We're going to discuss other treatment options — right now, in fact — but I need to know where we're at, before I know where we need to go."

He turns with a lollipop, and hands it to Charlotte. He's gotta be kidding. She raises her brows, plucks it from his fingers, and asks, "Is this for bein' a good patient or somethin'? Because it's a little lame, Pete."

"It's a preggo pop," he tells her, and her brows raise even further.

"A what now?"

Pete smirks, sits back down in his chair. "It's a B6 pop - it'll help with the nausea. I'm out of the lozenges right now, but I'll order some in for you. Don't overdo them, especially since you're taking the prenatal vitamins. A couple a day should be fine, unless you're eating a lot of foods high in B6, then cut it back a little. But since right now, you're not eating much of anything…"

"I'll start eatin' better," she tells him.

"Good. Until then, you start to feel nauseous, just suck on one of these."

She nods, twirls the lollipop between her fingers.

"And now, we'll discuss the things you can't get on Google," he says her with a look that lets her know that comment really hadn't been appreciated.

Charlotte just smirks a little at him.

"Acupuncture," he tells her, and Charlotte's not smirking anymore. Her belly knots up a little, her fingers feel suddenly cold.

Acupuncture means needles, and she has this irrational fear of them, ever since she was little.

"Do we have to?" she asks, trying not to let the nerves show, but knowing she's not doing the best job of hiding them. "I mean, it didn't help the last time."

"It didn't help you sleep, but it's been proven to help with morning sickness. Twenty minutes, twice a week."

"I really…" She takes a deep breath, swallows her pride, exhales, and admits, "Pete, I really don't like needles. I know I did it the last time, but I was desperate."

"You're not desperate now?"

Charlotte shuts her mouth, scowls. He's got her there.

"You barely felt the needle, remember?" he tells her, gentling his voice for her. "And it'll help. Just don't look at the needles, and you'll be fine."

She licks her lips, nods, and takes another calming breath. It's a testament to how wretched she's felt that she tells him, "Alright. We can try it."

"I'd like you here twice a week, a half hour each time. We'll do acupuncture one day, acupressure the other. How's that?" Charlotte nods her agreement. At least it's not a double dose of needles. "If anything else comes up as you progress — back pain, swelling, whatever — we'll deal with that, too. Okay?"

"Okay," Charlotte agrees. "Can we do early mornin'? Tuesdays and Thursdays maybe? 8ish?"

"I'm not usually in until nine, but I'll come in for you, if you can't work it in later."

"Thank you," Charlotte tells him, and she means it, genuinely. She glances at her watch and tells him, "I've gotta run — I'm out of town the next few days, startin' tomorrow. But we can start next week?"

"Sure - next Tuesday, 8am. Right here." He points to her lollipop. "I'll grab you some more of those before you leave, so you can have them while you're gone."

Charlotte takes a handful of the pops with her, shoves them in her pockets as she heads back downstairs. It isn't until the elevator doors open on her floor that she remembers the whole reason she went up to Oceanside in the first place was to talk to Addison about the neonatal rounds. She groans, checks her watch again, and knows she doesn't have time before her next meeting to run back up. She'll just have to stop by later, she tells herself, stepping off of the elevator and heading for her office.


	13. Chapter 13

She works late on Monday night, gets up early on Tuesday morning, and the rest of the day goes by in a blur. Cooper offers to come with her one more time, and she turns him down again. She sits through the board meeting, distracted as all hell the whole time, and then finally tracks down Addison to get her rounds covered just before heading out to catch her flight. It's no surprise that she sleeps her way through the first leg, and she makes a point to grab a snack (ridiculously overpriced Teddy Grahams) at DFW while she books it to her connecting fight. It's not a proper meal, but at least her stomach's not empty, she tells herself.

And then, before she knows it, Charlotte is leaning against a pillar at the curbside pick-up of Montgomery Regional Airport, checking the emails she's amassed between leaving the office and landing in Alabama. She has half a dozen from the practice, thirteen about St. Ambrose, one from Cooper asking how she survived the flight, and one from her cousin, Delaney, telling her that she'll be at the airport in — Charlotte checks her watch — seven minutes.

By some miracle, Charlotte's flight actually managed to arrive twenty minutes early, which would be fine if she wasn't so bone-tired that even standing here waiting seems like torture. That in-flight nap she took earlier seems to have just made her even more tired.

A horn honks, and she startles, glances up and breathes a sigh of relief. There's a silver Camry stopped right in front of her, and it takes her half a second to recognize the woman behind the wheel as her cousin. They're godsisters — Laney's momma and daddy are Charlotte's godparents, Charlotte's are Laney's — born almost exactly one year apart. As two of the few girls in a family slightly overrun with boys, they'd been inseparable as kids. Laney's taller than Charlotte by about an inch (they'd measured, competitively, from the time they were eight years old), with the hazel eyes, and brown hair that is cut into a short, sassy bob. It's the bob that threw her off — this is the first time Charlotte can remember Laney's hair being shorter than her shoulders in their entire lives. Laney's a teacher, now — sixth grade, if Charlotte remembers right, and freshly engaged. But best of all, she's early.

Charlotte steps up to the car and opens the passenger side door, reaching in and tossing her weekender bag between the seats so it lands haphazardly in the back.

Laney snorts a little laugh, and says, "Graceful."

"I'm exhausted," Charlotte tells her, as she settles into her seat and buckles in. "Even openin' another door sounded like work. Also, hello, how are you, thank you so much for pickin' me up."

"Anythin' for you, Charlie," she says as she pulls out into the light airport traffic. "You know that."

"Jesus, Laney, am I gonna have to put up with people callin' me that the whole time I'm here?" Charlotte asks, shutting her eyes and relaxing back into the seat.

"Probably. That's the penalty of comin' home for a visit."

"Funny, I thought the penalty for comin' home this time was buryin' Big Daddy."

It's gallows humor, and Laney doesn't respond, so Charlotte cracks an eye open and looks at her. She's watching the road, but her brows are raised in amusement.

"Guess so," Laney finally answers. "How you holdin' up?"

"I'll be fine," Charlotte murmurs, letting her eyes drop shut again. "I'm more worried about Momma and the boys."

"Well, accordin' to my momma, who was over there fixin' dinner for 'em the night before last, they're takin' it exactly like you'd expect."

"Oh, lovely," Charlotte mutters. She had no illusions about the situation she was comin' home to, but she'd stupidly had a sliver of hope that her family might actually pleasantly surprise her this time. "I do not have the energy for this tonight."

"You've got an hour and a half drive before we get there," Laney reminds. "Take a nap."

Charlotte shakes her head. "I slept on the plane between LA and Dallas. If I sleep for more than half an hour, I'll be up all night. Besides, I don't want to stand you up — I want to hear all about this man of yours, and all the ridiculous weddin' plans I'm sure you have. And about who talked you into cuttin' off all that hair of yours."

Laney laughs a little. "Would you believe I lost a bet?"

"I absolutely would — but it looks great, so I wouldn't cry over it." She's startin' to feel heavy, like her bones are sinkin' down toward the seat cushions. She should open her eyes, she thinks. If she leaves 'em shut much longer she may not get 'em back open.

"Thank you," Laney says, drawing Charlotte's attention again. "I'm co-op teaching with this guy — he takes my kids for science, I take his for math — and he bet me that his kids would average higher in the last unit test than mine. His beat mine by one percent — one percent and I had to cut off six inches."

Charlotte smirks. "And if he'd lost?"

"Same — six inches. His hair's longer than yours."

Charlotte chuckles a little, and murmurs… something. She's losin' the battle, she realizes, eyelids heavy as lead, her body already at that point where she's sure she couldn't twitch a finger if she wanted. "Laney…"

"Yeah, sugar?"

"Wake me in twenty, okay?"

Laney laughs a little, says okay, and that's the last thing Charlotte remembers before she's being gently nudged awake. She grunts a little, peels her eyes open, and blinks a few times in an attempt to wake up. "Mm?"

"Hey, sleepyhead," Laney greets. Streetlamps are flashing into the car at regular intervals, so Charlotte know she's either been asleep for five minutes or nearly forty if they've hit a busy patch of highway. "I'm starvin' — there's a Sonic at the next exit, I figured I'd see if you want somethin' too."

Charlotte's stomach growls, and she's suddenly aware that she's starving, too. That gnawing, hollow kind of hunger. And for once, food actually sounds appetizing. In fact, Sonic sounds like bliss. It's crap food, but she's managed miraculously to make it a whole day without throwing up. Maybe she can manage a real meal. And besides… it's _Sonic_. It's one of those things she reserves for home — she knows there's a handful of them in LA, but for some reason it feels wrong to drive up in her Mercedes, or to take Sonic back to her place in Santa Monica. No, Sonic is made for muggy Alabama nights, and football games, and a hunky quarterback in the driver's seat while you sit there all nervous and excited, your slushie cup sweatin' cold water while you wait for him to kiss you. It just loses some of it's magic when she eats it anywhere else.

But now she's here, she's almost home, so she looks at Laney, and says, "God, yes."

They pull in, place their order — Charlotte gets herself a crispy chicken sandwich, tots, and a strawberry limeade. Laney orders the chili cheese Coney hot dog, mozzarella sticks, and a strawberry slush. It's there in no time, but as soon as Laney finishes paying the carhop, and hands the food to Charlotte, she knows this was a mistake. Alabama magic or not, she's not up to fast food. She's not sure if it's the chili, the hot dog, or just the deep-fried heaviness of it all, but the smell… She can't. She can't take it, and almost as soon as she gets it, she's handing the food back to Laney urgently, and yanking on the handle of the car door. It doesn't give — and Charlotte curses automatic locks, mashing the lock button, wrenching the door open, finally, just in time to revisit those Teddy Grahams all over the pavement.

"Oh, my God!" Laney exclaims from beside her, and Charlotte's thinking just about the same thing, torn between misery and humiliation, and the acute knowledge that splattering your lunch all over the place doesn't really help the appetite of the other patrons trying to enjoy a late-night snack nearby. "Are you okay?"

Charlotte manages to nod, before gasping, "The food."

"What?" Laney questions, and Charlotte turns her head just a far as she dares and says.

"The food. Get rid of the food. I can't —" She turns her head to gag again, and hears the sound of the other car door opening, and the concerned voice of their carhop as she talks to Laney. Jesus, she's never gonna make it through this trip, she thinks, forcing herself to sit back up and dig through her purse. B6 pops, she thinks. She's gotta find the suckers; Pete said they'd help… She put them in her purse before she left, set them right on the bed next to her makeup case as she was packing, so she wouldn't forget them. But they're not here. She moves aside her wallet, her phone, keys, Kleenex, her iPod. No lollipops.

No. No, no, no, no, no. This is not happening.

Her stomach is still rolling, and she swallows hard against the bitter taste in her mouth.

"Charlie, what's wrong?" Laney asks, back in the car now. "No what?"

She hadn't realized her little mantra had been out loud, but all she can do now is shake her head as panic crawls suddenly up her spine. No, this cannot be happening. She cannot have one more thing go wrong this week. This is ridiculous! She just can't!

She remembers, suddenly, with perfect clarity, that when she decided to pack her makeup in her duffel instead of her purse, she left the suckers in the middle of the bed. Right in the middle, by themselves, so she'd see them and remember. But clearly she didn't remember, because they're not here.

"Damnit!" Charlotte tosses her purse down onto the floor of the car in front of her, and drops her face into her hands. God, this month really can't get any worse, can it?

"Charlotte," Laney tries again from beside her, but Charlotte's too busy trying not to give in to the stupid tears that are burning the back of her eyes. Because, really, a sobfest is exactly what would make this whole thing perfect. Vomit and tears — all she'd need would be nudity to make it the public humiliation trifecta. "Charlotte Louise," Laney repeats, grabbing her shoulders, and turning her slightly toward the driver's seat. "I need you to let me know you're okay, or I'm going to have to start panicking a little, okay?"

Charlotte looks up at that, sniffling before she realizes that she's already lost to the tears, they're already dripping down her cheeks. "Yeah," she croaks. "I'm okay."

She sniffles again, hard, and wipes at the wetness on her face, blinking hard and willing the tears to stop. She shudders in a breath and reaches for her drink, sipping carefully. It's cool, and sweet and tart, and it helps, just a little.

Delaney sits back, relaxes, and says. "Shut your door so we can pull out." Charlotte does as she's asked, and feels another wave of nausea as the car pulls out of it's spot. Laney pulls to the farthest end of the parking lot, and then rolls all the windows down to air the car out. "So. Who's the lucky guy?"

Charlotte scowls. "What?"

"Oh, come on. You were all excited for dinner until it was starin' you in the face, and then you lost your lunch faster than I could blink. And then you cried, and we both know how often that happens." Laney smirks at her. "You're pregnant."

"I have the flu," Charlotte tells her, trying to sell the lie for the first of what's probably many times in the next few days.

Laney lifts a brow. "Sure you do, sugar."

"If I'm lyin', I'm dyin'," Charlotte swears, and Laney's other brow moves up to join the first.

"Then I'll go call the undertaker and tell him to expect another," Laney replies, and Charlotte can hear the edge of irritation in her voice. "If you're really not pregnant, then fine, but if you are, and you're lyin' to _me _of all people, I'm gonna be mighty offended."

"Why is it that everyone thinks me throwin' up means I'm pregnant?" Charlotte asks, exasperated, dropping her head back against the headrest and shutting her eyes. "Why can't a girl just have the flu, or food poisonin', or somethin' simple like that?"

"What's more simple than people makin' babies?" Delaney asks in turn.

Charlotte turns her head, opens her eyes, and figures, the hell with it. If anyone can keep a secret, it's Delaney. "Yeah," she grumbles, "Makin' a baby is real simple. Makin' a baby with a man, betrayin' him, gettin' yourself dumped, and then findin' out you're pregnant is simple as sin. Pukin' your guts up for a month straight, havin' him still not sure how he feels about you on account of the whole betrayal thing — which was stupid anyway, Laney, because it wasn't about him. It was about work. But does he care about that? No. No, he doesn't care about that, he just cares about pesterin' me over how I'm feelin', and whether I'm gettin' sick too often, and goin' home with me for the funeral like I need him to hold my hand through it all when he wants nothin' else to do with me. Yeah, Delaney, this whole thing's been a walk in the park."

Laney's brows are raised again, somewhere between sympathy and sick amusement — and let's be real, it's so awful it's almost funny so Charlotte can't really blame her. And Delaney's one of the few people she'd let get away with what comes out of her mouth next: "I'm so sorry, Charlotte. It all sounds like a mess."

"It's a Goddamned mess," Charlotte agrees, sipping her drink again. "And I finally broke down and got a consult with the hoodoo doc at his practice, and we're supposed to start stickin' needles in my arms to try to get me to stop pukin' up everything I eat as soon as I get back. But in the meantime, I'm supposed to not get too hungry, and try to eat anyway, and he gave me these B6 pops that really do help — at least the one I had yesterday seemed to — but it seems I forgot 'em."

"That's whats not in your purse," Laney surmises, and Charlotte nods.

"I was really hopin' they'd be enough to get me through the next forty-eight hours without anyone catchin' on. I am not ready to tell Momma and the boys that I'm havin' a baby yet — at least, not in the next few days. We've got enough goin' on."

"Might be a good distraction," Laney reasons, and Charlotte just shakes her head.

"I do not want to be the distraction for my family durin' all this. I don't need the lectures, or the fussin', or any of that. I just need to get through this, and get back to work."

"Has anybody ever told you you're a bit of a work-a-holic?" Laney asks, and the smirk on her face makes it clear it's a rhetorical question. She seems to have decided that Charlotte's recovered enough for travel — and she's right about that — because Delaney puts the car in gear, and pulls back out onto the service road.

"Only every day of my damned life," Charlotte answers, before adding, "I'm sorry you didn't get your dinner."

"Don't worry about it — there's a Super Target right ahead. We'll stop there and raid the grocery section for somethin' you can eat."

Charlotte smiles and relaxes back into the seat with a smile. "You're too good to me, Laney."

"I really, really am," Laney teases.

Twenty minutes later, Laney has scarfed down a pizza at the Pizza Hut inside, while Charlotte got herself the only thing that looked remotely appetizing: bread. She's a step above WonderBread — but just a step. They're back in the car, and she's eating slowly, while they talk about Laney's fiance. Cooper texts again to ask how she's doing, and she tells him she's fine, but she forgot her B6 pops. He says something placating and Cooper-ish, and she smiles in spite of herself. Much sooner than she'd like, they're pulling up in front of the house where Charlotte grew up, and she's torn between being glad she's here, and a gnawing sense of dread.

"Good luck," Laney tells her as she pulls her bag from the back seat.

Charlotte smiles, tells her "thank you," and "I'll see you tomorrow night."

And then she steels herself, heads for the door and lets herself inside.


	14. Chapter 14

The house seems empty, and too quiet when she walks in. Most of the lights are low, and while it feels like home, she can't say it feels particularly welcoming.

"Charlotte," Landry calls quietly to her, and she turns her head to see him and Duke in the sitting room, drinks in hand. "In here."

Charlotte adjusts her bag on her shoulder and steps into the room, then sits on the sofa adjacent to them. She eyes their glasses, tries to gauge just by lookin' who's further gone. Duke, she thinks. He glanced up as she sat, but now he's just starin' into his glass, a deep, troubled frown on his face. Landry has the decency to smile at her, at least, and ask her, "How was your flight?"

"Long," she tells him. "I'm beat."

"You look it," Duke mutters, finally acknowledging her presence.

Charlotte gives him a look. "Well, thanks so much," she drawls sarcastically. "You try lookin' fresh as a flower after a half day of work and cartin' your ass through three different airports."

"Half day of work," Duke scoffs, like the very idea offends him, and Charlotte feels her temper flare.

Before she can snip back at him, though, Landry speaks up to diffuse the whole thing with, "Who drove you home?"

Charlotte and Duke are still lookin' hard at each other as she answers, "Delaney."

"Oh," Landry sounds pleasantly surprised, and Charlotte finally breaks eye contact with Duke to look at him when he asks, "She didn't want to come in and say hello?"

Charlotte shakes her head, and reminds him, "It's a school night. She's gotta be up early."

"Right, right."

"She's comin' over tomorrow with Lou and Dean to go over the final arrangements, though. You'll see her then. And Thursday." Landry nods, Duke shifts restlessly next to him. "Speakin' of, do we have everything in order? Funeral is at noon on Thursday, right?"

Landry nods. "We have to… take care of Big Daddy tomorrow mornin'," he says carefully, "so the home can come take him and get everything prepped in time for the service."

"Don't worry, Charlie," Duke mutters into his glass. "You'll make your precious flight back to La-La land."

Charlotte's veins go icy, her gaze sliding back to her youngest brother. "That's not what I'm worried about," she tells him coldly. "And screw you for implyin' it is."

"Screw me, huh? No." He shakes his head, tosses back the rest of his drink and continues, "No, screw you for showin' up here for a whole two days, askin' questions like you've been here, like you're a part of this. You're not a part of this, Charlie, you weren't here."

"Duke," Landry warns, but Charlotte jumps in before he can cool them off.

"I've been busy," she tells her brother. "I have a lot goin' on back home that I can't get out of. I don't have a lot of time for-"

"For your own family? Your own father?"

"Enough," Landry cuts in again, lookin' to Charlotte again when she opens her mouth to reply. "Enough," he repeats. "Duke, leave her be. She's doin' her best."

"Bullshit."

"Duke!" Landry's finally startin' to lose his temper. "Knock it off! Now."

Duke fumes, but keeps his mouth shut, reaching for the nearby bourbon bottle instead. He refills his glass, pounds it down.

Landry reaches for the bottle and tops off his own glass, then gestures to Charlotte. "You want one?"

"I'm good " she tells him tightly, still watching Duke and thinking he's had enough for the both of them and then some. In the interest of keepin' the peace she doesn't say it out loud.

"You sure? Might help you unwind from the flight."

"Positive. I'm thirsty - for somethin' that won't just make me thirstier. Gonna grab some water and head up to see Big Daddy, I think."

Landry shrugs, says "Suit yourself."

"He's in the guest room?" Charlotte asks and Landry nods mid-sip. "And momma's in her room I'm guessin'."

"She's sleepin," Duke tells her, then adds, "Leave her be."

"No, she's not," Charlotte replies, knowin' full well that her Momma will be waitin' up for her, makin' sure she makes it home alright before turnin' in. It's the one thing she's always been good at. She stands, lifts her bag back onto her shoulder and looks at Duke. "Don't go drinking yourself to death. I don't have time for another funeral."

Before he has a chance to respond, she stalks from the room, climbing up the stairs and heading for her bedroom. It's technically a guest room now, but it's still feminine and sweet, and there's still a shelf of riding trophies on one wall. Still the same white furniture, the same bench filled with books under the window. She sets her bag on the bed, and pulls her pajamas from it, changing into loose pants and a tank top before leaving the room heading for the one two doors down. The old hardwood floors creak just slightly under her feet.

She knocks lightly on the door to her parents' room, and gets no response. She turns the knob anyway, and lets herself in. Sure enough, her Momma's awake, sitting at the desk near the window, a thick book spread open in front of her.

"Hi, Momma," she greets quietly, and Augusta turns to look at her.

A hint of a smile crosses her face, and she says fondly, "Well, look at that. You made it home."

"Of course I did," Charlotte tells her, walking the rest of the way into the room and pulling the sitting chair up to the desk so she can join her mother. "Wouldn't be anywhere else."

Her mother looks her over, once, and Charlotte wonders what she sees. She doesn't have to wait long to find out: "I'd say you look good, but it'd be a lie."

She scoffs, shakes her head. "First Duke and now you. Honestly, can't a girl even get a kind welcome in her own home?"

"Oh, stop your fussin'," Augusta scolds lightly. "You look plum tuckered out, that's all. Still pretty as the day you were born, just lookin' like you could use some shut-eye. Don't get your panties all in a pucker."

Charlotte rolls her eyes and settles deeper into her chair. "It's been a long day — and then I got to come home to Duke havin' a hissy fit."

"Duke's got some anger in him right now. Big Daddy bein' ill has been hard on him."

"It's been hard on everyone," Charlotte points out. "Includin' me."

"You lookin' for sympathy?" her mother asks, and Charlotte shakes her head.

"No, just not lookin' for grief from my family." Charlotte doesn't want to talk about this anymore, so she nods toward the book on the table. "What's that?"

Augusta turns the book toward her, and Charlotte's surprised she didn't recognize it sooner. It's a Bible, and the shift of the book lets Charlotte see that there's a pad of paper next to it, a small list of chapter and verse numbers written down. She's working on funeral readings, Charlotte realizes, and her heart aches suddenly. This is all so… real.

"Just the Good Book," her momma says. "I'm tryin' to figure out the readings for Thursday."

"I'd think the preacher would be able to help with that," Charlotte says gently, turning the book a little closer and looking at the text on the page. Psalm 23. A funeral classic.

"He has — he gave me the list. I'd like you and your brothers to each read somethin', although I'm not sure Duke is up to it."

"Well, he can just be up to it," Charlotte mutters. "It's Big Daddy's funeral; he can man up enough to speak."

Augusta ignores her and says, "I've been readin' the verses, tryin' to figure out which of you would sound best readin' which ones."

Of course that's what she's doin', Charlotte thinks with a smirk and a shake of her head. "We'll give Duke somethin' short," she tells her. "Want me to read some of 'em to ya? So you can pick me the right one?"

Augusta looks at her then, and nods slowly. "Sure, baby girl. I'd like that."

Charlotte pulls the Bible a little closer, but she doesn't really need it to recite the Psalm. She's heard it enough times as a child to have it memorized.

She keeps her voice low, and speaks slowly: "The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever."

When she looks up again, her Momma's eyes are closed, and she has a small, pained smile on her face. She nods and says, "That one's yours." Her eyes open again, and they share a smile before she says, "Now, let's figure out what to do with those brothers of yours."

**.::.**

Twenty minutes later, all their verses are chosen, and Charlotte's across the hall in the guest room, sitting in a chair next to Big Daddy's bed. He's tucked neatly under the blankets, completely still aside from his slow, steady, mechanically controlled breathing. If she was a weaker woman, she'd try to convince herself that he's just sleeping. But she's not, and he's not, and she knows it. He's gone. Nothin' but a body, kept alive by the power of science. She's missed her chance; she'll never speak to him again.

But maybe…

She can't convince herself he's still in there, but she believes in God, she believes in life after death, so she supposes she can believe that if she talks, he'll hear her somehow. No different from talkin' to a gravestone, right? People do it all the time.

She glances at the bedroom door to double check that it's closed, and the takes a deep breath.

"Hi, Big Daddy," she begins, hesitantly. "It's me. I'm, uh… I'm here. Y'know, when I told you I wanted to come home soon, I meant in a few months, not a few days. And the whole point was to see you…" She sighs, reaches for his hand, but stops herself just before she makes contact. Instead, she rests her hand next to his on the bed. "You should've told me how bad you were feelin' when I called. I'd have tried to…" She trails off, and then sighs, because she knows the reason he might have kept things from her if he knew he was runnin' out of time. "Who am I kiddin'? I didn't have any time, and you knew that. But neither did you, it turns out, huh? So now here we are. You're… wherever you are, and I'm here. With Momma, who actually managed to stay sober until I got here, not that the boys aren't doin' their best to make sure the King household is still drunk as sin. Duke's pissed at me for not stayin' longer, and Landry's tryin' to keep the peace, and I…" She takes a deep breath, and says, "I'm pregnant, Daddy. I woulda told you last time we talked if I'd known it was the last time, but… I didn't know, and now you're gone, and I'm just… pregnant. Cooper and I are havin' a kid together, and I wish you were here, because I can just see you yellin' at him, scarin' the livin' daylights out of him, and makin' him promise to do right by me. You'd make his life hell the whole time, I know you would. And I know you'd give me a talkin' to about makin' stupid choices, and all that, and about how you think he's all wrong for me, because I know you never liked him. And we'd fight and I'd… Or, I don't know, maybe you'd be happy about it. Maybe…"

She's suddenly acutely aware of the fact that she's talkin' to the room, not to him. That her words are goin' into empty air, and that's it, and this is futile. And it doesn't matter the million ways she could imagine everything goin', because this is the way they've gone and that's that.

She leans back in the chair and sighs and says, "I don't know why I'm doin' this; this is stupid. You're not here."

She sits there for another minute, just starin' at him, and then pushes herself to her feet and says, "I'm goin' to bed. I'll be back in the mornin' with Landry to, uh… Well, you know. Goodnight, Daddy."

And with that, she nods a little, and then heads for the door. She needs sleep. Lots and lots of sleep.

Tomorrow's gonna be a long day.


	15. Chapter 15

Charlotte wakes to the smell of coffee, and the distinct feeling that she isn't alone. Sure enough, when she cracks her eyes open, there's someone sitting on her bed — a very familiar someone. Matilda Jones damned near raised Charlotte and the boys, but it's been years since she's worked for the Kings and Charlotte wasn't expecting to see her until the funeral. And yet, here she is, perched on the edge of the bed, dressed in jeans and a colorful top, her short, kinky curls tamed by a headband, and looking every bit as warm and welcoming as she always has. She reaches one hand over to brush the bangs from Charlotte's eyes just like when she was little, her dark skin still soft and fragrant. Familiar. Comforting. It's the first moment that Charlotte feels at home — not just like she's here, but like she's _home_. And then she has to go and cap it off by sayin' to her, "Up and at 'em, Charlie Lou. The day's not gonna wait for you and your lazy bones to get started."

Just like every damned day until she'd left for college.

Charlotte's voice is scratchy when she asks, "What're you doin' here?"

"I came by with some food for your Momma and the boys. Figured they'd have enough troublin' 'em today without havin' to worry about fillin' those bellies, too. And then your Momma told me you'd come in last night, and I couldn't resist wakin' ya with a strong cup just like always." She nods toward the mug on the nightstand and Charlotte's mouth is literally watering. She wonders if she can get away with just a sip. And then she pushes herself to sit up, and her stomach rolls a little, and she thinks she'd better not. "And I made that egg casserole you like so much — the cheesy one with the bacon and the Corn Flake crust."

"Oh. Thank you." Charlotte's heart sinks a little. It was her favorite — a special Sunday morning breakfast treat when they were kids — but she's learned to fear eggs like the Devil over the last month, and after last night (and the vague nausea she's fightin' right now) she knows better than to risk it and hope for the best.

Madilta raises her brows at Charlotte and says, "That's a heartless thank-you if ever I've heard one. What's wrong? You didn't finally lose your mind and decide to go all low-calorie, no-taste vegan on me, did ya?"

Charlotte laughs a little and shakes her head. "No, Tilly. Definitely not."

"Well, then what's the matter, sugar?"

"Nothin' I just, uh…" Charlotte trails off. She's about to tell Tilly that she's been sick, that she's flu-ish, that she hasn't been feelin' herself lately, but if there's anyone who can keep her secret it's Tilly, and besides, she's never been able to get away with lyin' to her, hard as she may have tried when she was younger. So she takes a deep breath, and tells the truth: "I'm pregnant. Can't have coffee, and just the smell of eggs makes me sick. But thanks for thinkin' of me — I mean it."

"Well," Tilly says, looking half amused and half scolding, if that was possible. "Sounds like someone ate their supper before sayin' grace."

Charlotte wishes she could muster up the energy to look ashamed of herself, but she's not, so she just rolls her eyes. "I've already said grace once," she reminds her. "I think once you've been married and been cheated on, the whole waitin' 'til marriage thing no longer applies."

"Fair enough," Tilly agrees. "Tell me about this fella you're makin' a family with. Is he good enough for you?"

Charlotte smiles a little wryly and shrugs her shoulders. "He dumped me — before he knew. I did somethin' that hurt him, and he dumped me, and then I found out I was pregnant, and he's been… good. Great, even. Texts me all the time to make sure I'm okay, offered to come home with me for the funeral and everything, but he's not sure he wants me back yet. Says he doesn't know if he can trust me again."

"Does he still love you?"

"Says he does."

"He'll come around," Tilly assures. "If he's offerin' to come here for you, if he's supportin' you and this baby, he'll come around."

"You don't know that."

"Oh, yes I do, sugar. A man can't watch a woman he loves with his child growin' in her belly and not come around. They develop a whole new appreciation for ya when they're witnessin' you makin' life right in front of 'em."

"I hope so," Charlotte admits, pressing her hand lightly to her belly as another wave of nausea hits her. "I miss him. As good as he's been about it, I sometimes feel like I'm doin' this alone."

"How far along are ya?"

"Ten weeks. Found out about a month ago, when I started pukin' my guts up all the time — which I'm still doin', every mornin' and evenin'. I've been eatin' like a flu patient for weeks. It's torture."

"You're doin' okay right now," Tilly points out, and Charlotte shakes her head.

"Queasier by the minute," she tells her, and Tilly shakes her head, then leans in conspiratorially and whispers to Charlotte:

"Lemons."

"What?"

"Fresh lemons. Cut 'em in half, and take a big whiff whenever you start feelin' nauseous. Got me through the beginnin' of both my pregnancies."

Charlotte has a sudden memory of when Tilly had been pregnant with Emily. She'd been ten at the time, and there had been lemons everywhere. The kitchen counter, the play room, the sitting room — hell, even the laundry. She'd wondered why, but never asked, and it suddenly seems hilarious to her. "It really did, didn't it?"

"Mmhmm. Old family secret. Unfortunately for you, I made a fresh batch of lemonade while breakfast was bakin' and you're fresh out."

Charlotte deflates a little. "Damn."

"Don't you worry your pretty head over it, Charlie. I'll run some by later."

"You'd do that for me?"

"Don't be silly, sugar. I'd do anythin' for you. In fact, why don't you get dressed and head out back, and I'll make you somethin' better for your shaky stomach and meet you in the garden in a few minutes."

Charlotte's about to agree when she realizes the flaw in the plan — namely, that it would completely blow her cover. "What time is it? Is Momma up already? Because if she is, and I'm turnin' down breakfast casserole, she'll know somethin's up. I haven't told her or the boys yet — I wanted to wait until after this whole thing. We have enough goin' on right now without throwin' my little indiscretion into the mix."

"I'll take care of your Momma." Tilly reaches over puts her hand over the one on Charlotte's belly. "You just worry about this little one, and about takin' care of your brothers today while they do what needs doin'."

Charlotte nods, swallows against another surge of nausea and wishes she hadn't left that loaf of bread in Laney's car, because she's pretty sure she'll be barfin' before she heads down for breakfast. Lovely.

"Thanks, Tilly. I'll be down in a little bit."

"Think of lemons," she tells her with a wink as she stands. "Sometimes just thinkin' is enough."

Charlotte hopes she's right. She shuts her eyes and thinks of lemons, and listens as the door clicks shut.


	16. Chapter 16

_**Author's Note: **__This chapter contains some dialogue that was lifted directly from the show. I take no credit for such dialogue - all credit for any lines featured on the show goes to ABC/Disney/Shonda Rhimes. It's their world, I just like to play in it._

_Also, apologies on the week-long delay between posts! I've been super busy this week, and had no time to write/edit/update. _

* * *

><p>It turns out that thinking isn't enough, and Charlotte spends a few tense minutes in the bathroom before making her way downstairs. Tilly's made her a plate of fresh fruit and hoecakes — she told Augusta that she was making them for the boys to have with the casserole, and that she was stealing a plate for herself while she joined Charlotte in the garden for breakfast. By the time Charlotte makes it to the garden, the cakes have cooled a little, and there's an empty plate next to Tilly, a few buttery Corn Flake crumbs the only evidence of the casserole it had once held.<p>

Charlotte smirks at her, and thanks her for keepin' her cover, then picks at her plate until she actually feels full. Not overfull, not sick, just… sated. Tilly spends the whole time fillin' her in on what she's missed while she's been gone — who's had babies or gotten married - or who's just shackin' up. What her own kids are up to. How crazy old Clara down at the senior home has finally passed away.

It's a blessed window of calm and normal in a day that promises to be anything but, so Charlotte drinks in every single minute. But now, her plate is almost empty, and the day's startin' to creep by. She doesn't want to send her father into the great beyond in her pajamas, so she says goodbye to Tilly (who's headed in to work at her restaurant), and heads back up to her room.

But when she walks back into the house, she knows something's not right. There are raised voices coming from the upstairs hall, echoing all through the foyer. Landry and Momma, and it sounds like Duke, too. Before Charlotte makes it up the stairs, Duke is stomping his way down them.

"I don't care! I'm not goin' in there, and that's that!" he hollers as he blows past her and into the sitting room. Charlotte doesn't have to guess twice to know what he'll be lookin' for in there.

She reaches Momma and Landry, in a stand-off outside Big Daddy's room, and asks, "What the hell is goin' on?"

Augusta eyes her oldest son and says bitterly, "Tell her, Landry. Tell her how her brothers have lost all their spine and dignity and honor, and are-"

"Oh, come on, Momma. Don't be like that. It's just… It's not right. It shouldn't be us. I can't be the one to kill 'im."

"Oh, you've gotta be kiddin' me," Charlotte sighs. This is just what she needs. "Landry, he's already dead."

"Charlotte!" her mother scolds. "Don't you speak that way about Big Daddy. He's in there, alive, and — alive — Don't you talk that way."

She's half tipsy, Charlotte realizes, and the fact that she's only _half_ tipsy gives Charlotte a pretty good idea of how this day's gonna go. Momma only holds off on the alcohol when she's gonna need a little stronger medication to make it through the day. Great. Just great.

"Momma, it's the truth," Charlotte tells her gently. "He's not in there anymore, not really." She turns her attention to her brother and says, "And Landry, you won't be killin' him. You're just settin' him free of his body. And you've got about two hours to do it before we need to be callin' the coroner."

"I don't want to hear anything about coroners," Augusta says suddenly, looking more agitated by the second. "I don't want to hear about coroners, or death, or my own children fightin' over who's pullin' the plug. I can't be in the middle of this. You two need to make the decisions. You need to decide. I can't be in the middle of this."

She's crumbling, Charlotte realizes, and fast. Can't take the pressure of knowin' what's about to happen to her husband, and really, Charlotte can't blame her. So she takes a deep breath, loops her arm through her Momma's and says, "Momma, why don't you go take a rest. Landry and I will handle everything."

"I don't need to be led like a child," her mother snaps, shaking her arm out from Charlotte's. "I'm not one of your patients."

"I'm well aware of that," Charlotte mutters, crossing her arms over her chest. She nods toward her Momma's room. "Go on. Lay down for a while. You don't have to be in the middle of this. We've got it handled."

Augusta looks like she wants to says something more, but she doesn't. Instead she nods and retreats to her room, Charlotte and Landry watching silently until the door's shut behind her.

"The doctor gave her Valium for the nerves," Landry tells Charlotte, and she rolls her eyes.

"Of course he did. Doesn't that man know she's —" She cuts off, shakes her head. "It doesn't matter. I'm gonna go shower and dress, and when I get out, you'll take care of Big Daddy and I'll call the coroner. If Duke and Momma can't handle it, that's their business, but this was the plan, Landry, and we're stickin' to it."

"Charlie-"

"You're the man of the house now," Charlotte reminds. "This falls to you."

"I…" She gives him a hard look, and he caves, just a little. "Fine."

"You've got twenty minutes to get your nerve up," she tells him, before heading for her room. She can't wait for this day to be over.

—

By the time she's showered, dried her hair, and dressed, it's been nearly thirty minutes, but the extra ten minutes doesn't buy Landry any courage. In fact, when she emerges, he's even worse off, drinkin' with Duke in the kitchen. Duke sees Charlotte walk in and bails for the garden, apparently still unwilling to have an actual civil conversation with her. Landry gets to his feet and puffs himself up before blurting, "I'm not doin' it, Charlotte."

"Come on, Landry," Charlotte sighs, exasperated. "You can't be serious."

"I'm dead serious," he says. "It isn't right."

"Landry. Man up."

"Duke and I have been talkin', and we think it'd be better if we had the doctor come do it."

"We're not havin' the doctor do it, Landry, we're his children. He asked for this. You know he did."

Landry's fidgety and restless, and Charlotte crosses her arms and stares him down, thinking maybe she can get him to comply out of sheer will. It doesn't work, though, because all he says is, "I need some air."

He follows after Duke, heading for the gardens. Charlotte's hot on his heels.

"Landry-" she starts in again as she catches up to his stride. "I know this is hard, but… it's what needs to be done."

"I won't do it," Landry tells her, again, as they walk into the garden. Duke's stretched out in the chaise chair nearby, still drinking steadily.

"You said you'd do it."

"It's patricide," he tells her, and Charlotte scoffs.

"You been readin' Shakespeare?" she asks him, derisively.

"He's my father," Landry says, and Charlotte's tempted to point out that he's her father, too, but then again, she's not the one bein' asked to push the button. So maybe she needs another tactic.

"He'd do it for you," she points out.

"Wait - you sayin' Daddy'd pull the plug on me?" Landry demands, sounding dismayed and doubtful. Lord, why did she get such sissies for brothers?

"Big Daddy would do what has to be done," she tells him. "He's got strength." She waits a beat, then points out, "He didn't pass it on to you."

It's not a kind statement, but with the way he's bein' right now, he doesn't really deserve one.

"So you do it," Duke pipes up from his spot on the chaise chair next to them. Charlotte's heart does a double-beat. He can't be serious. "You're the doctor. You're his favorite. You kill him."

Charlotte's not expecting the jolt of anxiety that lances through her — her stomach dips dangerously. It's not that the idea had never occurred to her, it's just that he's her _father_. And she'll do it if she has to, but he's the only man who's stood by her, the only one who hasn't let her down. He's her daddy and she's his princess, and she doesn't _want_ to be the one to do this. She didn't want it to come to this.

Before she can answer Duke, though, the doorbell rings, the tones sounding out clear as day all the way back to the garden.

"Expectin' anyone, Duke?" Landry asks, and her younger brother shakes his head.

"Nope."

"Must be for you," Landry says to Charlotte, but it's ridiculous, because who would she be expecting? It's just him pushin' one more thing onto her.

Charlotte's too tired to argue about it, and besides, she's the only one of the three of them that's totally sober, and she'd rather not have her family's guests greeted by a bunch of drunks if she can help it. So she stalks past him, through the kitchen, the sitting room, and pulls the door open.

And blinks.

Cooper is standing there, a light sheen of sweat on his brow, saying something about the house and the humidity. Charlotte just stares. He actually came. She told him not to, and he did anyway, and she thinks she should be pissed at him, but the truth is, she's incredibly relieved. This whole thing is turning out to be harder than she'd realized, and havin' him here, even if it means more questions, even if it means one more person to worry about… well, she can't say she's not grateful.

She steps back, holds a hand out to gesture him in, and tries to stop lookin' so stunned.


	17. Chapter 17

_**Author's Note: **__This chapter contains some dialogue that was lifted directly from the show. I take no credit for such dialogue - all credit for any lines featured on the show goes to ABC/Disney/Shonda Rhimes. It's their world, I just like to play in it._

* * *

><p>The drive from Montgomery was long, and boring, and Cooper's never been more grateful for GPS, because he can't imagine what it would be like to be lost here. In the middle of Alabama. In the middle of Alabama, where he managed to find three country stations before the Top 40 station, and where he drove past not one, but two, Pro-Life billboards between Montgomery and Monroeville. To say he feels out of place here is an understatement.<p>

Monroeville itself is quaint, and charming, and as he drives through it, he wonders what kind of place Charlotte grew up in. She's four miles out of town, and he knew she had horses, so he imagines it's a farm, a suspicion that grows even stronger when his GPS tells him he's approaching his destination on the right, and all he can see is a row of hedges and a mailbox with an ornate nameplate that simply reads: KING.

He turns onto the drive, and continues past a swatch of pasture with grazing horses, and then he realizes how very, very wrong he was about this being a farm. Because up ahead, he sees a house. No, house is an understatement. It's a looming white building that looks like something out of some Civil War era movie, with pillars on the front porch and ivy-covered trellises leading off to one side. He wonders, suddenly, if this was a plantation house, if these rolling pastures were once something else — and as he parks the car in the shade of a tall, old tree with long, hanging branches, he's not sure he wants to know.

He steps out of the car and the humidity hits him like a slap to the face. He says a silent prayer of thanks for his car's air conditioning. LA is warm, but it's nothing like this. The air here feels swampy and heavy, and he's sweating almost instantly as he reaches into the back seat for his bag and heads for the front door.

He presses the doorbell, hears it echo inside, and thinks, _here goes nothing_.

A minute passes with no response, and he's thinking about ringing again when suddenly the door opens. He's a little surprised that Charlotte is the one who answers it — with the size of this place, he was half expecting them to have a butler or something. But there she is, standing in front of him in a dark, flowered dress. Her mouth opens a little when she registers that it's him standing there, and he watches her face melt from the half-irritated it was when she first pulled the door open to pure shock. She was not expecting this. Score one for Team Cooper, he thinks.

She hasn't said a word, so he goes for Understatement of the Year, and tells her, "This is a nice place." He feels a blessed breeze of chilled air from the inside, and adds, "Crazy humid."

Charlotte recovers, just a little and steps back to let him in. She still hasn't said anything, but it's enough of an invitation, and he's all about getting out of the heat, so he steps inside just in time to see two men make their way into view. They're both blonde, one obviously older and taller than the other, and both have glasses of amber liquid in their hands. These must be the brothers, he thinks.

"Who's this?" the younger one asks, slurring just a little, even though it's just barely noon. So they got started early, then.

Cooper offers a little wave and greets, "Cooper Freedman. I'm, uh-" He realizes suddenly he doesn't know how to introduce himself to these guys, but Charlotte is more than happy to jump in and save him.

"A friend," she supplies. "From LA. Cooper, this is Landry-" the older guy lifts his glass a little in greeting, "And Duke." The younger one just scowls. "My brothers."

"You didn't tell us you were expectin' company, Charlie," Landry says, not unkindly, and for a second Cooper thinks the brother has already forgotten his name, but then Charlotte quickly corrects him.

"Charlotte," she says, firmly. "My name is Charlotte, and seein' as we've got company, that's what you're gonna be callin' me."

Charlie is _her_, Cooper realizes, and he knows just enough to rein in the smirk that's dying to form on his lips. Charlie. He'd never in a million years imagined calling her that, but now he can't wait to start. She'll kill him, but it'll be worth it.

"Alright," Landry says gamely, although Duke rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "You didn't tell us you were expectin' company, _Charlotte_."

Cooper glances are Charlotte, who looks like she can't decide whether to be pissed or grateful at her brother intentionally repeating himself, but she just says, "I wasn't expectin' him," and slides that glare over to Cooper. "In fact, I remember tellin' him not to come."

Cooper just shrugs. "I came anyway."

"Clearly." She looks back to her brothers — no, she looks back to Landry. She's hardly looked at Duke the whole time they've been standing there, Cooper realizes. "I'm gonna get him settled in. You gonna meet me upstairs when I'm done?"

Landry glances between them and shakes his head again. "No. I told you. No."

Charlotte takes a deep breath, lets it out and nods. "Fine, then." Her gaze moves to Duke, finally. "I guess I'll be takin' care of it myself."

Cooper has no idea what they're talking about, but the room has grown icy with tension and he gets the impression it's best not to ask. He keeps his mouth shut, and just gives the men a nod as Charlotte gestures him toward the staircase dominating the center of the foyer.

She leads him up the stairs, and into a bedroom, and tells him, "You can sleep in here, with me, unless you'd rather be in a guest room."

"No, no. This is fine," he says, looking around the room. The floors are hardwood, and the walls are a pale, pale green, but the rest of the room is white. White-washed furniture, a white cushion on the window bench, white sheets, a lavender and white quilt. He knows the answer even before he asks, "Was this your room?"

Of course it was. It looks exactly like a young Charlotte's room should. All it's missing is seashells and superfluous vases.

She nods, and says, "Yeah. You can put your bag there next to mine. I'm leavin' tomorrow, you know that, right?"

Cooper nods. "American Airlines, flight 2764. First class." He reaches into his bag and pulls out a matching ticket. "Me too."

Charlotte scowls suddenly. "You always intended on showin' up, didn't you? That's why you wanted my itinerary."

Cooper shrugs a little. "I always knew I might. I didn't make the final decision until yesterday."

Charlotte shakes her head. "Jesus, Cooper, that ticket must've cost a fortune. You didn't need to do that; I'll pay you back."

He waves a hand at her, then stuffs the ticket back into his bag and roots around for something else, snagging what he's looking for and tucking it into his pocket before she gets a chance to see it. "No, you won't." He takes a few steps toward her then, settles his hands on her biceps and squeezes gently. "I didn't have to do this; I'm here because I want to be, and I will pay for everything myself. You've got enough to worry about without worrying about me." Before she gets a chance to answer, he drops one hand to his pocket and pulls out the B6 pop he's just grabbed from his bag. He holds it up between them and says, "Here."

And then he watches her face do that thing again — that stunned, touched, I-can't-believe-you-did-this face that she gave him not ten minutes ago at her front door. He's gotta find more ways to get her to make this face. It's incredible on her.

She wraps her fingers around the lollipop, shakes her head and chuckles a little. "You're crazy. Thank you."

He has the overwhelming urge to lean in and press a kiss to her forehead, but before he can decide whether or not to give into it, she steps back and tells him, "I can't very well go walkin' around my house my with a sucker like I'm some silly kid. Why don't we go across the hall — nobody will bother us in Big Daddy's room, and I've gotta… I have things to do in there."

The exchange downstairs suddenly makes more sense, and he nods, and follows her out of the room and around the staircase, into a room across the hall. Definitely not a child's room — all ornate, Southern furnishings. It's large, with a sofa just inside the door and a big sprawling bed. In the bed is a behemoth of a man who doesn't look particularly friendly — more like the kind of guy who'd tower over you, chase you out of the house with a shot gun, or just plain crush you like a bug for getting his only daughter pregnant out of wedlock. Cooper is momentarily glad he didn't have to meet Big Daddy in life — and then feels bad for thinking that sort of thing, especially with Charlotte a foot away.

She sits on the sofa, and he follows suit. She unwraps the B6 sucker, and pops it in her mouth, and for a second, they just sit there in silence.

Then, Cooper finally asks, "How you holdin' up?"

"Well," Charlotte says around the sucker, before pulling it out of her mouth. "Lets see. Duke and Landry are downin' bourbon. Momma's taken to her room with the vapors, and not a one of 'em wants any part of makin' a decision about Big Daddy. "

He's stuck on the middle of that last sentence — he didn't know people actually used "the vapors" in everyday speech. As far as Cooper's concerned, people stopped "coming down the vapors" right around the time of _Gone with the Wind_. He knows that maybe he shouldn't, knows now isn't really the best time to needle at her, but he can't help himself:

"The vapors?" he teases. "You have a medical degree from Johns-Hopkins, and you've diagnosed your mother with the vapors."

"She's a drug addict, Cooper," Charlotte tells him sharply, and yeah he really shouldn't have teased her… He has the decency to make sure he looks just a little embarrassed about the whole thing as she adds, "Here in Dixie we're more polite about it."

He files that bit of family information away under "things that make Charlotte the way she is," while she just looks hard at him, sucker in her mouth again, and then sighs. She doesn't say anything, though, and it's a little unnerving, so he prompts, "What?"

She pulls the lollipop out.

"Why are you here, Cooper?" she asks him. "In the middle of my Southern Gothic tragedy."

"You forgot your pops," he says with a shrug and a smirk, and she rolls her eyes, so he goes serious again and tells her honestly, "No, really. I came… for you."

She looks at him, doubtfully, absently twirling the lollipop stick between her fingers. "Because of the baby."

"No," he tells her, and it's the truth. "Just for you."

That seems to satisfy her, because she nods, and then sighs again before telling him, "Landry was supposed to pull the plug this mornin'. Couldn't do it. Duke can't even come in the room."

"So, it's just you," he realizes, and Cooper is even more sure of his decision to come here. She's in this all alone, can't even count on her family. He can't imagine the pain she has to be going through, and if he's the only one who'll stand by her now… well, he's here. He's here, and he's glad he didn't listen to that part of him that told him flying to Alabama was crazy, and that she'd kick him out anyway, and the handful of other doubtful things that popped up while he was booking his ticket last night. She needs him, and that's that.

"Just me," Charlotte confirms, pulling his attention back to the conversation. She glances at the bed, and Cooper watches her rationalize, "He's not even there any more. It's just the ethical, moral, medically correct thing to do. Pull the plug and… it's done."

She's struggling with it, he can tell, and he wants to comfort her, so he reaches for her hand and squeezes. She pulls her fingers from his almost immediately, and doesn't meet his eyes when she says, "Don't do that right now."

He can hear just a hint of unsteadiness in her voice, and she sucks in a deep breath, lets it out again.

"Okay. Sorry."

She looks at the bed again, murmurs, "I should take care of this. We're runnin' out of time."

But she doesn't move. She's rooted to the spot, and Cooper buys her some more time by saying, "Why don't you wait until you finish the sucker."

Charlotte nods, pops it back into her mouth and lets herself lean back into the cushions a bit. They just sit there, her sucking dutifully at the medicated candy in her mouth, him watching her, studying the room, looking at her father. Charlotte shifts her gaze between the table in front of them and the bed. Back and forth, back and forth. Every once in a while, she pulls the sucker out, looks at it like she's checking how far she has left, then slips it back into her mouth.

And then, finally, she bites, the last brittle bit of candy crunching between her teeth. She pulls the stick from her mouth, and Cooper reaches for it, startling her. "I'll toss it," he tells her, and as he takes it to the trash can underneath the desk (you notice these things when you have nothing but time to stare at the room), she takes a deep breath and pushes herself to her feet.

He meets her at the bedside, where she stands staring at her father's body as the machines pump slow, rhythmic breaths into it. Cooper isn't sure if this should be a private moment or not, so he stands just a little behind her, close enough so she'll know he's there for her, but far enough that she might still feel like she has some space to grieve.

She surprises him by talking.

"Big Daddy always said cancer was just his chickens comin' home to roost. He didn't believe in tears." They had that in common, Cooper thinks. "If he ever cried, he did it in private. Cancer was just his chickens. Payback for being a son of a bitch. And he was a son of a bitch. To everybody. Everybody but me." He can hear the hint of a smile in her voice and it charms him. Charlotte King was a Daddy's girl. Who'd have guessed? "He loved me being a doctor. Loved that I didn't just marry some boy and have a bunch of babies. He'd have killed me for marryin' son of a bitch of my own. Cuz he knew what that would've been like for me. But if I'd have stayed… married some boy and had babies, I would have been here," she says, and his heart breaks for her. "When he got sick. I would have been here to take care of him. So, these aren't his chickens, these are my chickens. 'Cause now I'm the doctor in the family, and I know what has to be done."

He wants to tell her no, that it's not her fault, that even if she'd been here, the end result would still be the same and she shouldn't let herself feel this way, but she's already turning, and pressing her finger to the switch on the machine and he doesn't want to break her resolve now that she seems ready.

But then she hesitates, takes a breath, and he can't let her do this. She shouldn't have to, it's unfair.

"Charlotte…" he says, gently, but before he can say any more she's assuring him she's okay.

"I can do this," she says. "Shut up. I can do this. I can do this, damnit. I can…" She sucks in another breath, and he knows what they both know: that she's lying to herself. When she says it again, "I can do this," he decides to put them both out of their misery

"Okay," he tells her, cutting off her mantra, and putting his hand over hers on the switch. She looks at him, and he pulls her hand away, putting his in its place. They look at each other for a moment, and he wills her to see what he's trying to tell her: he's got this, he'll take care of it, she doesn't have to be the one to do this, it's okay. She must understand because she nods, and turns back around to face her father. Cooper gives her a second — but just one, no need to prolong the agony — before turning off the machine. A moment later it flatlines.

And then Charlotte goes and breaks his heart all over again: she leans down and kisses her father on the forehead tenderly, then straightens, and steels herself, and says stonily, "That's… that."

Cooper watches her shoulders rise and fall in a couple of quick, deep breaths and knows she's trying to hold herself together. Just like the night she found out, just like the night he messed all this up. Cooper's determined not to make the same mistake again, but he wants her to know it's okay for her to grieve, here, with him. Even if it wasn't okay with her father, even if it's not okay with her family, it's okay with him, so he tells her in no uncertain terms, "It's okay to cry."

"No," she answers, "It's not." But her voice is wavery with tears, and her shoulders hitch again before the tiniest sob breaks through. "Goddamnit," she hisses. "Stupid hormones." She turns wet, angry eyes on him and accuses," Why'd you have to go and get me pregnant?"

Cooper scratches his head a little, and tries for, "I'm sorry?" as Charlotte wipes the tears away and takes another deep breath to rein them back in. But he doesn't want that for her, he doesn't want her to tamp this down — not the death of a parent, not something this huge. "C'mon, Char, it's just you and me, nobody will ever know if you cry a little right now." He reaches for her, "Just let it out."

Charlotte slaps his hands away, hard, and shakes her head. "No." He watches her go hard, watches her shut the emotion off the best she can. It's almost eerie to watch how teary eyes go dry with a few blinks, how the vulnerable look she was giving him a few moments ago is replaced with one that is hard and determined. She sets her jaw, and tells him, "I have things to do."

And with that, she heads for the door.

She walks out of the room, and Cooper follows her as she stalks down the hallway, down the winding stairway and into the dining room where her brothers are sitting somberly. They don't look up when she enters, and she doesn't bother to spare them a glance either as she walks to the phone on the far side of the room. Cooper hangs back by the doorway and watches as she picks up the phone, shifts a business card sitting on the credenza next to it. The room is deathly silent, tension and grief weighing down the air, and then she says, "This is Charlotte King. We're ready." And after a moment, a quiet, "thank you" before she hangs up.

She turns then, and looks to her brothers, and Cooper's not sure he's ever seen so much contempt on her face.

"Either of you want to go tell Momma?"

Landry shakes his head slowly, Duke mutters a "nope" and Cooper watches the pain flicker across Charlotte's face before it goes hard again.

"Of course not," she mutters, and then she opens a door of the credenza and pulls out a fresh bottle of bourbon. She walks up to the table and slams it down in front of them, the impact cracks loudly in the room and both men jump. "Then why don't you just get started followin' in her footsteps," she tells them bitterly, heading back in Cooper's direction and muttering something about worthless cowards. Cooper reaches for her but she shrugs him off harshly and bites, "Don't! Just don't."

She heads for the stairs and he helplessly watches her go, noticing for the first time that a woman he doesn't recognize has been descending the staircase. She passes Charlotte at the bottom step and says something to her, but it's too low to hear even in the silence of the room. Charlotte shakes her head and just keeps moving.

The other woman walks toward Cooper, shaking her head just a little but not looking too put out at being snubbed. She gives Cooper a once over, and he feels like he should introduce himself, but before he gets a chance, she says to him. "She'll be alright. Don't you worry about her."

Then she turns her attention to the other men in the room. Duke has just reached for the bottle, twisting the top off and refilling his glass. The woman raises her eyebrows at him and asks, "You sure you want to disappoint her today?"

"I'm pretty sure we already did, Tilly," Duke says unapologetically, handing the bottle to Landry as he takes a deep swig from his glass. Landry looks at the bottle, studying the label and frowning deeply, but doesn't pour. Cooper feels horribly out of place.

"You know your Daddy always said the only thing that'd test you more than Jesus is a King woman," Tilly says, and Cooper can't help the laugh that snorts from him. Ain't that the truth. "Your sister's no different from your Momma in that regard," she tells them, but she's turning to look at Cooper with a smile on her face as she says it.

"And you," she says, "You must be her man, judgin' by that little laugh there."

Coopers not quite sure how to answer that, and he really feels like he shouldn't be laughing at anything in this house right now, so he fights the smirk off his face, scratches the back of his head a little nervously and says, "Sort of, yeah... We're not really... I don't know what we are right now."

"You love her?" Tilly asks.

Cooper doesn't even have to think before answering, "Yes."

"You came here to be with her?"

"Yes."

"Then I'd say you're more together than not. And I'd say you deserve better entertainment than these fools drinking their problems away," she continues with a jerk of her head toward the King brothers. Duke scowls into his glass and glugs again; Landry has set the bottle a careful foot away from the glass he never topped off. "Why don't you come into the kitchen with me?"

Cooper is more than happy for any excuse to get out of the room, so he nods and says, "Yeah, of course," and follows.


	18. Chapter 18

It isn't until they're in the kitchen and Tilly is saying something about his flight from LA, and how he must be hungry, that Cooper realizes he hasn't eaten since the snack box he had during his flight and he's starving. He barely has time to tell her that yes, he'd love something to eat, before she's pulled a large plate from the fridge and set it down in front of him. She peels back the tin foil tented over the plate to reveal an assortment of cold fried chicken.

"You grab a piece; I'll grab us some plates," she tells him, and Cooper doesn't waste any time before grabbing a piece and biting in. Even cold, it's delicious, and he mutters "wow" as he chews. Tilly gives him a smirk that lets him know she knows exactly how good it tastes.

"This is really good," he says between bites, as she sets a plate in front of him and one next to him.

"Thank you, darlin'," Tilly replies, and it's only then that he realizes he's eating _her_ fried chicken. As in, she made it. He doesn't know who this woman is, but he knows she's friendly, and generous, and can cook, so he already likes her. She sets a drumstick on the empty plate, then asks, "What can I get you to drink? There's sweet tea, lemonade, Coke… we're out of coffee, but I could start a fresh pot."

"Lemonade sounds good."

She nods, tells him, "Lemonade it is then," and heads to the fridge. She pulls out a pitcher, gives it a sniff, then pours a little into a glass and sips carefully. Whatever she's concerned about seems not to be a problem, because she pours the glass full after that, and then fills another for him.

"Checking for cyanide?" he teases, and she smirks.

"Augusta's been known to spike a pitcher now and again, especially durin' times like these. Just makin' sure this was virgin lemonade before I served it up."

"Augusta?" Cooper questions, reaching for another piece of chicken — he's already wolfed down his first.

"Charlotte's Momma," Tilly clarifies, her head back in the fridge. She pulls out another bowl, then balances that and the two drinks before heading back toward the island. He's offering to give her a hand when she waves him back into his seat. "Nonsense. You're a guest; you sit. Between the years I worked in this house and ownin' my own restaurant, I've done plenty of dish-carryin' in my day. This is nothin'."

So she works here. Cooper has a sudden out-of-place moment when he realizes the person he's talking to is… well… "the help." His family wasn't exactly the type that had staff - the closest they ever got was the summer his mom hired Katie Lieberman to come clean once a week, and that was only because Katie was saving for college, and his parents had wanted help her out. He's not sure what the protocol is for these things. "You, uh, you work for the Kings?" he asks, making a point to keep his tone conversational, as Tilly dishes potato salad from the bowl onto their plates, then sits next to him.

"Worked," she corrects. "They hired me to care for Charlotte when she was just a tiny, bald-headed little thing-"

"She was bald?" Cooper asks, grinning.

"Oh, bald as sin, until she was about nine months old. And even then, it was slow comin' in. She looked like a little boy in a dress until she was near on two years old. Augusta used to try to put those little bows on her head, but there was nothin' but wisps to stick 'em to, and they always fell off." She smirks, sips her lemonade and gets back on track: "Anyway, I stayed on all the way through Duke's grade school years. Looked after the kids, and helped out around the house. Then when Duke was old enough to look after himself, Big Daddy helped me get started with the restaurant. I'm just here helpin' out today — came over this mornin' to make up some breakfast, and bring some chicken for lunch, and a casserole to heat up for dinner." She lowers her voice to add, "But then Charlotte told me about that little bun in her oven, and I decided to come back, bring her somethin' that'd be easier on her system than fried chicken and funeral food."

She knows about the baby, Cooper realizes, with a sudden, unexpected flood of relief. At least there's one person here who he doesn't have to lie to about what's really going on between him and Charlotte. "She told you about the baby? She said she wasn't going to tell anyone"

"She did," Tilly nods, adding, "and then she made it very clear I was not to let anyone in the family know."

Cooper shakes his head. "I don't know how she can keep this to herself — and from her family, of all people. I mean, I had a had a hard time telling my parents, but it was just because I couldn't figure out how. Not because I didn't want to."

"Well, she's set in her ways, always has been. And she worries too much about her momma and her brothers. She's far away, and she can't keep after 'em like she thinks she ought to. And once Big Daddy got sick, she got even more frantic about it — the few times I saw her home, she looked just wrecked over everything — or as wrecked as Charlotte'll let you see, anyway. If I know her, she sees tellin' her family about the baby as bringin' more stress into an already stressful time."

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course, sugar."

"Does her father have a name other than Big Daddy?" He's dying to know — he has to — because this is all just way too Tennessee Williams for him.

Tilly smirks and sets her piece of chicken aside. "Joseph," she tells him. "He was Big Joe until Charlotte was born, then the family took to callin' him Big Daddy, and it just stuck."

"And what did he do to get a house like this? Because this is… this is huge."

He hopes it's not rude to ask, but Tilly doesn't seem the least bit fazed. She just leans in conspiratorially and asks him, "Have you been out back yet?"

"Nope."

"Then this is nothin', baby. You've gotta go see the garden, and if you've got time, have Charlotte take you on a walk down to the stables. They're out on the far end of things, but it's a pretty walk. Lots of green."

"I'll do that."

"And to answer your question, this is a family house. Big Daddy's momma was Sadie Monroe — as in Monroe County, Monroeville, and Monroe Bank and Trust. They say the town's named after President James Monroe, but the name change came right around the time Eli Monroe established the bank here in town, so rumor has it the whole James Monroe thing is just the family bein' modest and patriotic. Or as modest as one can be when you own half the land in town. The family still insists the name is just a coincidence, but…"

"Wow." It's all Cooper can say. He'd always known Charlotte wasn't hurting for cash, and he could tell from the house that her family was well off. He just hadn't realized she was loaded.

"Mmhmm," Tilly agrees. "Gettin' the job here all those years ago was like hittin' a lottery. The house is big, and the family is… complicated," she chooses her word carefully, "But they paid well, and always treated me with respect, and the kids were a handful, but sweet. When they wanted to be."

"Sweet, huh?" Cooper smirks. Charlotte King is many things, but he's not sure he's ever counted "sweet" among them.

"She can be, when she wants," Tilly assures. "And she was when she was little, before her Momma took to drinkin' so heavily. It's hard on a little girl when her Momma doesn't pay her the mind she ought to, you know. Nannies may make your meals, and comb your hair, and keep after you about your schoolwork, but at the end of the day, we are not your Momma. And babies, no matter how old they get, want their mommas and daddies. That's just the way it is."

Cooper nods - that he agrees with. He wonders what Charlotte's plans are for handling the childcare — if she's thought about it, if she's thinking nannies and babysitters and being gone for long work hours. He's hoping they can work something out — some kind of schedule where they can both be around as much as possible. Daycare, and then parenting. A normal childhood, like his. But then, he supposes, this might be normal to her. They should talk about it. They should talk about a lot of things….

But not now, he thinks. Not this week. So he turns his focus back to Tilly and says, "She said her dad was hard on people — but not so much with her?"

"Oh, he was still hard on her, he just had a little more love in him for her than the boys, that's all. She was his only girl, and as far as Big Joe was concerned, she was perfect. That man was tough as stone with his boys, but when it came to Charlotte, he melted like ice in sunshine. He had high expectations for her, though — good grades, extracurriculars, college, a good job. Ever since she was a baby, he'd told her she was gonna grow up to be somethin' special. Destined to make him proud — and that was all she ever wanted. Worked her butt off to be the best, to make somethin' of herself, to be the pride of her Daddy's life. The only thing that ever tripped her up, even a little, was Billy."

"Who's Billy?"

Tilly blinks just once, then smiles a little tightly. "Her high school sweetheart," she tells him. "They were together for years, then he broke her heart somethin' fierce. It knocked her down a peg or two, gettin' crushed like that, but she brushed herself off eventually, worked even harder than before, like she had somethin' to prove, and then next time I saw her, she was a big fancy doctor. Successful, and smart, and busy as sin." She pauses for a half second, then says, "But enough about her. Tell me about you."

Cooper straightens a little in his seat, nods slightly, and says, "Um, Cooper Freedman. Pediatrician. Adopted, raised in Ohio by wonderful parents. Moved to California several years ago, and… I love it. Love the city, love my job, just… love it."

"And how'd you meet Charlotte?"

"Ah…" That's one story he certainly can't tell — not accurately, anyway, but he tells her the same lie he told his parents: "She's Chief of Staff at the hospital that's partnered with our practice, so I knew her, but didn't like her very much, because she was always getting in the way. Which, I suppose, is her job, but it doesn't make her all that popular. And then one night, we got set up on a blind date."

Tilly laughs out loud at that. "You did not."

"Oh, yes. We did. And once we realized we were each others' dates, Charlotte got all embarrassed, and left, because she did _not_ want to date me. But there was something about her… Seeing her outside the hospital, all flustered and embarrassed, I don't know… I wanted to know that Charlotte King. So I asked her out again, and thankfully she said yes."

"And then you broke up," Tilly tells him, and Cooper wonders how much of the story she actually knows.

"Yes, we did."

He gets a better idea when she tells him, "She told me she did somethin' hurtful, broke your trust, and you left. But she didn't tell me what boneheaded thing she did…"

In the most benign, innocent way, she's fishing for gossip, he realizes. And Cooper finds it kind of endearing, so he gives it up, "My practice was having some money problems, and I was telling her how we'd been arguing over whether to lease a floor of space we had to help cover costs. And then she went behind my back, leased the space, and opened her own competing practice right downstairs."

Tilly scoffs and shakes her head, lifting her lemonade and taking a sip. "Of course she did."

"Then, when I got upset about it, she tried to tell me it wasn't personal, it was just business."

"Well, to her, I'm sure it was," Tilly shrugs. "That's the Monroe in her. That family has workaholics like her Momma's side's got alcoholics, and I'm not sure which has caused more trouble. A business opportunity is a business opportunity, whether it hurts someone or not."

"Yeah," he sighs. "She told me a couple of days ago that part of the reason she did it was because she knew it would help my practice — which I guess, in the long run, it sort of has. So now I feel kind of bad for being so mean to her after it happened — she kept trying to apologize, and I wouldn't let her."

Tilly waves a hand, makes a face. "Don't worry about her. She's tough. Sometimes a person needs a reminder to think about somethin' other than themselves once in a while. But since she's bound to be a bit turned around right now, what with the baby and all that, an apology would probably go a long way."

Cooper nods, picks at another piece of chicken. "I still can't figure out how she feels about the whole baby thing. It's unexpected, and it's certainly not anything I'd have planned for myself right now, with her, the way things are, but I'm still excited. I love kids — love them so much I made them my job, and I can't help being optimistic. I've always wanted to be a dad. But Charlotte… I don't know. I can't really tell. She doesn't seem very happy."

"She's scared," Tilly tells him, and Cooper frowns at that.

"She told you that?"

"Of course not," she chuckles. "But she doesn't have to. Bein' pregnant for the first time is scary - no matter how much book learnin' she's got, no matter how many pregnant women she's seen workin' in that hospital, she's never been pregnant. And it's different when it's you with the baby inside of ya, when it's you carryin' around that little life and keepin' it safe. It can be excitin', and wonderful, but it's scary too. And for someone like Charlotte, who's so used to bein' in control, havin' this thing that takes her control away - makes her sick, and weepy, and everythin' else — I don't have to ask her to know she's scared by it."

He's never really thought of it that way, but he figures she must be right. The whole thing makes him feel just a little bit helpless. "I've been trying to talk to her - to keep in touch, to let her know I'm here. I don't know if it helps."

"It does," Tilly assures. "And that much I did get straight from her mouth."

"You did?" Cooper looks up at that. "She said that?"

"She did," Tilly tells him. "Told me you've been great about everything so far. But she's lonely, too, and you'd do well to put aside the hurt you've got for her, and remember that the only thing that can build that lost trust back up between you is trustin' again. And right now, she needs that. Even if she'll never admit it."

Cooper wants to keep talking, wants to ask her what else Charlotte said, but he doesn't get a chance to, because Charlotte chooses just that moment to show up in the kitchen, a cloth bag clutched in her hands and tears on her cheeks. "Damnit, Tilly," she scolds, her voice wobbly. She walks right up to the island and sets the bag down with a dull thunk, before wiping her tears away. "You suck."

Tilly just smiles and lifts her lemonade, telling Charlotte, "You're welcome," before she takes a sip.

And then Charlotte reaches into the bag, and the cloth puddles down and Cooper sees that it's filled with lemons and a loaf of some kind of bread. The bread is what Charlotte is going for; she carefully unwraps the plastic wrap around it and says, "And you forgot to leave me a knife, so I could scarf it down in the privacy of my own room."

"You sit," Tilly insists. "I'll get you one."

"You absolutely will not," Charlotte scolds, moving around the kitchen before Tilly has a chance to stand. "You don't work here anymore, you're not gettin' my silverware."

"Suit yourself," Tilly replies, sharing a look with Cooper. He peers past her at the loaf, and she says, "Banana bread. Charlie always liked it when she was little."

"Charlie did, did she?" Cooper asks with a smile.

Charlotte returns, wielding a bread knife and pointing it menacingly at him. "Charlotte," she corrects him. "You start callin' me Charlie, and you'll live to regret it."

She doesn't even bother to take the loaf out of the bag, just cuts three slices of bread, and reaches for the middle one first. Tilly reaches over and grabs the other two, taking the crust for herself and passing the other to Cooper.

Charlotte looks up, and frowns. "Hey. That's-" Tilly raises her brows and Charlotte stops mid-sentences, clears her throat a little and says, "Delicious, you should try it."

Cooper laughs out loud. "Don't want to share, huh?"

"It's not that, it's just that there's so little I can keep down lately," Charlotte excuses before taking a small bite out of her slice. As true as that may be, he's pretty sure it has as much to do with a selfish desire to keep the whole loaf to herself, and he's half-tempted to indulge her, but he also wants to be polite to Tilly — and he'd be lying if he didn't admit he wants to know if the bread's as good as the chicken. So he slathers his slice with butter and takes a big bite.

It's just as good as the chicken. Cooper shakes his head a little and looks at Tilly. "You have any interest in moving to California and cooking for me every day for the rest of my life?" he asks, teasingly.

"Oh, no thank you," she chuckles. "Los Angeles is not the place for me. Besides, I've got plenty of people here comin' around for my cookin' every day. I don't need to travel to find hungry mouths."

"Speakin' of," Charlotte says, "Aren't you supposed to be at the restaurant, feedin' all those people who come expectin' food from the kitchen of Tilly Jones?" The levity in her voice sounds a little bit forced, but not from lack of affection, when she adds, "Big Daddy didn't help you out just for someone else to do the cookin'."

Tilly rolls her eyes, and scoffs, but then they're both smiling at each other as she says, "Folks know I'm not there every minute of the day. Mae's handlin' the kitchen for now, and I'm headed back as soon as I leave here. But I couldn't let you go hungry and nauseous, now could I?" As if to accentuate her point, Tilly gestures toward the piece of bread in Charlotte's hand, and urges, "So eat up, or all those other folks you're so worried about might starve or suffer from food that's less than adequate, the way you tell it."

Charlotte's smile widens a little before she takes another bite, and Cooper's torn between drinking in every second of that genuine smile (he doesn't imagine he'll see it much for a while) and marveling at the fact that there's someone in this world it seems Charlotte King might actually take orders from.

Charlotte gestures toward the plates of chicken bones in front of them and says, "I'd rather have some of where that came from. But I don't know if there's enough lemons in the world to make fried chicken sit well."

"You want some chicken, you don't need lemons," Tilly says, rising from her seat. "You need a knife."

Charlotte just raises her eyebrows questioningly, and Cooper continues to sit back and watch the exchange. It's odd to see Charlotte in her element like this - to see her around people who've known her for so long, who know her better than he does. That softer, less guarded side of her that he's always trying to pull out is showing through in little glimpses. Cooper studies Charlotte as she watches Tilly round the island, reach into drawers and cupboards, and come back to them with a plate and a knife and fork. Tilly's pulls a piece of chicken from the big plate, and runs the knife over it to cut the skin off.

Charlotte rolls her eyes a a little, but her smile is soft as she says, "I'm not a child, Tilly. I can cut my own chicken."

"I'm not cuttin' it for you," Tilly retorts, gesturing vaguely in the direction of Charlotte's torso with the fork. "I'm doin' it for the one who can't stomach the fried parts. Little peanut in there's the picky eater, and most definitely a child, so you hush."

Charlotte smiles a little, and drops her hand below the countertop, pressing it to her belly gently. It's such a simple, nothing moment, but Cooper is hit suddenly with how much he loves her, how much he's missed her. It's like a whap upside the head, and he's left there staring at her —Charlotte, Charlotte who's carrying his kid. For a second, he can't even remember why he was mad at her in the first place.

And then she looks up and catches him staring, and frowns. "What?"

"Nothing," he says, clearing his throat a little and bringing the slice of banana bread back toward his lips. He adds, "I've missed you," quietly, right before he takes a bite.

That frown on her face softens a little, and she nods, murmurs back, "Me too," and then Tilly's setting a plate of chicken in front of her. All the delicious, golden skin has been stripped, and the chicken's been cut from the bone in fork-ready chunks.

Charlotte offers a polite thank-you as Tilly hands her the fork, and then Tilly just stands there with her arms crossed for a second, smirking at the two of them like she knows something they don't.

Now it's Tilly Charlotte's aiming her question at: "What?"

"When are you two just gonna kiss and make up?" Tilly asks, leaning one hip against the island and popping some of the crispy chicken skin into her mouth.

Charlotte almost looks uncomfortable as she shifts slightly in her chair and says, "That's up to Cooper."

He realizes then that Tilly is right, that keeping them apart will never make things better, and that as much as she may say she can do this on her own — and as right as she may be about that — holding on to this separation isn't doing Charlotte any favors.

"How about now?" he answers, smiling and reaching for her hand.

He doesn't get an answer, though, because just as their fingers touch, Landry walks in, asking. "Tilly, have you seen —" He stops short at the sight of the three of them there, his gaze flicking from Tilly, to Cooper, and finally settling on Charlotte. "Charlotte."

"As a matter of fact, I have," Tilly answers, smiling and gesturing to her right.

Charlotte rolls her eyes, draws her hand away from Cooper's and asks her brother, "What do you need me to do now?"

There's no humor in it, no affection, just the bitter disappointment of an older sister left to fend for the family. Cooper wishes Landry would just leave the room, let her get back to the semblance of calm she'd had for the last few minutes. Let them get back to making up.

"Can we talk?" He glances at Cooper. "In private."

"You got somethin' to say, you can say it right here," Charlotte tells him, reaching for Cooper's lemonade. He slides the glass her way, and she takes a slow sip.

"I'd rather it be-" he tries again, but Charlotte doesn't even let him finish.

"There's plenty I'd rather you do lately, but you don't seem to be up to doin' those things, so I don't much care what you'd rather I do, Landry."

"Damnit, Charlie," Landry says, clearly flustered. "I'm tryin' to apologize here, can you just let me do it properly."

That seems to pique Charlotte's interest, because she turns a little in her chair, so she's facing him full on and says, unconvinced, "You're apologizin'?"

"Yes."

"For what?" she asks, and Cooper thinks she's just trying to make him suffer now, because everyone in that room knows exactly what Landry should be apologizing for.

Landry looks at Cooper again, then glances toward Tilly and then back at Charlotte. He must realize she's not going to let him have his way, because he takes a deep breath and says, "I should've helped you take care of things today. With Big Daddy. You shouldn't've had to do that alone."

"I wasn't alone," she reminds him, and Cooper just barely catches the way her gaze flicks to him momentarily.

Landry nods a little at that, looks down at his shoes. "Right." He sucks in a breath, lifts his head a little and says, "Still. I should've been there with you, and I'm… sorry… that I wasn't. That I let you down."

Charlotte's studying him, mouth shut tight, chin raised slightly, like she appraising, like she's judging how much he means it. She must see something she likes, because she nods just a little and says, "Fine. Thank you." And then she turns back to her chicken.

Landry stuffs his hands in his pockets and just stands there, like he's not sure what to do with himself. Charlotte ignores him, and Cooper sits there feeling uncomfortable until Tilly finally puts them out of their misery: "Landry, you want some chicken?"

He nods, and takes a step closer, settling into the only free chair left. Tilly grabs a plate for him, and he reaches for the chicken, then spies the loaf in front of Charlotte. "You make banana bread?" he asks Tilly.

Charlotte looks up sharply, but before she has a chance to speak, Tilly says, "Mmhmm. For your sister. You boys can't behave like men, you don't get anything special from my kitchen."

Landry looks down at his plate and nods, murmurs an accepting, "Yes, ma'am," and Cooper wonders what this house must have been like when they were kids and Tilly was in charge. For someone who seems so kind and laid-back, she sure does have all the King kids in line. He wonders if she had that Mary Poppins strict-but-kind thing going on and this is just a show of respect, or if she has a temper he hasn't seen yet that they've learned to fear.

The doorbell rings, sounding particularly loud and full in the tense silence of the kitchen.

"That'll be the coroner," Charlotte says, looking to her brother. "You gonna handle this or am I?"

"I'll do it," Landry tells her, but Tilly waves him back into his seat.

"Nonsense," she says. "You two sit and eat your lunch. Cooper and I will take care of this, won't we?"

She looks at him expectantly, and he doesn't even have to think twice: "Yeah, yes, of course." He looks at Charlotte. "You've done enough today, we'll handle it."

"Thank you," she tells him, with maybe the most sincerity he's ever heard from her. He stands then, and gives in to the impulse to press a kiss to her temple as he passes her. He thinks he feels her lean into him a little bit, but he can't be sure. There isn't time to linger, and he wants to take care of this for her, so she might have the chance to relax a little without the feel of death hanging around the house.

He leaves the kitchen with Tilly, and heads for the front door.


	19. Chapter 19

Charlotte and Landry sit in silence for a few, long minutes, listening to the muddled sound of conversation from the foyer, and then the collective dull footfalls of several people walking upstairs. Sitting here, resting for the first time in what seems like a week, she's hit with a wave of exhaustion so bone-deep that all she can do it sit and breathe.

And then Landry breaks the silence, "How is it…" he begins slowly, "that we are grown-ass adults, and Tilly can still make us feel like misbehavin' five-year-olds?"

Charlotte can't help it. She smiles.

"Because she's Tilly," she tells him. "She's momma'ed a whole mess of kids, perfected the whole guilt business."

He nods a little, then looks at the loaf of banana bread sittin' in front of her. "You're not gonna let me have any of that, are you?"

"Not a crumb," she swears, taking another bite of her piece just to spite him. It's not that she hates him or anything, she's just so damned pissed off at him — him and Duke. And she doesn't want to be, doesn't want to have to be. Not right now. There's too much goin' on for them to be makin' trouble for her, too.

But the apology helps, she has to give him that. And the fact that he managed to do it in front of a perfect stranger, another guy, no less… Well, that goes a long way. Shows he means it, proves it's important to him to make things right. So she should probably be a grown-up and meet him halfway, after all… She takes a deep breath, regrets it a little as her stomach does a little roll, then looks at him.

"Thanks for offerin' to help with the coroner."

"I shoulda helped with more. It's just…"

She waves a hand at him, doesn't make him grovel any more than he already has. "You don't have to explain it to me. Just man up a bit, alright? You're the head of the house now. You've gotta look after Momma and Duke when I'm not here; I can't be worryin' that you're gonna wuss out when things get tough."

"I won't," he assures her, and if he sounds just a bit irritated, that's fine by her. "But they're not invalids, Charlie. Not children, neither."

"No, they're addicts," she says, pointedly. "And speakin' as one myself, times like this are the hardest - when you're miserable and all you want is to not be miserable. Just don't let 'em go killin' themselves or anyone else, alright?"

He nods, tells her he'll do his best, then looks hard at her for a second before asking, "How you holdin' up? With the, y'know, the pills and all that?"

"I'm actually doin' fine," Charlotte says, and it's the truth. The little parasite she's carryin' has given her all the strength she needs to resist the pull of drug-induced numbness. Of course, she can't tell him that, so she says, "To be honest, I've been so busy takin' care of you lot since I got home that I haven't had any time to even think about druggin' myself up." He smirks a little, but he can tell he feels a little guilty. So she changes the subjects, asks him, "How's Duke?"

"I poured him into bed while you were talkin' to Momma," Landry tells her with a sigh. "He put a good dent in that bottle you threw down - Tilly gave us such a guilt trip over it that I couldn't stomach any more."

Charlotte smirks. "Good." The smile fades quickly, though. She hates knowin' her brother — boneheaded as he is — is in so much pain. "Y'know… this is awful. The whole thing. Sayin' goodbye to Big Daddy. I'm not sayin' it's easy, not in the least, but I never expected Duke to take as hard as he is."

"Well, Duke always was more sensitive than the rest of us," Landry points out. "And with Big Daddy gone now… Y'know, all Duke wanted was for our daddy to be proud of him, and he never was."

Charlotte scowls at that. "Of course he was. He just thought he could do better for himself, is all — and he wasn't wrong."

"Well, of course you agree with him, bein' Big Daddy's favorite and all that."

"Duke's a smart kid, Landry, we both know that. Big Daddy knew that. He's not usin' the brains God gave him, wastin' the leg up that comes with bein' part of this family — that's what always got Big Daddy all riled up."

"Not everyone's built for book-learnin', Charlie. Smart or not. He likes the construction work, he likes the guys he works with, and he's makin' his own paycheck. One of the guys is teachin' him woodworkin' and carpentry - and he's gettin' damned good at it. You should ask him about it before you go."

"Duke's not gonna want to talk to me before I go," Charlotte says knowingly. "He's got himself in a good ol' snit, and if I've gotta be his punchin' bag for the week, then… so be it."

"Maybe so. Still. He's makin' somethin' of himself, even if it's not what Big Daddy might've wanted. Big Daddy was wrong, and he was a downright bastard about it, all the damned time. If there was a drop of pride in him for what our little brother did, he never showed it to him. And he shoulda. Selfish son of a bitch"

He might be right, Charlotte's not sure, but either way she warns him, "It's not wise to speak ill of the dead, Landry — especially before they're even in the ground." She tries to lighten the mood a little by adding, "You keep it up like that, he's liable to stick around and haunt y'all just for sport."

Landry snorts a little laugh. "Now that I'd believe."

They both smile, and Charlotte takes another bite of her bread, chews slowly.

"You still not willin' to part with even a slice of that?" Landry asks, giving her his best little brother face. She rolls her eyes and caves, reaching for the knife to cut a piece. As she does he slides from his chair and digs in one of the cupboards, surfaces with a bottle of whiskey. _Shit_, she thinks, as she butters his bread, while he grabs two low-ball glasses and sets them on the countertop.

"I hope you don't think I'm joinin' you," she tells him, watching as he pours a small amount into each glass, then sets one in front of her before taking the buttered bread from her hand.

"Sure, you are. We're toastin' Big Daddy — a show of respect, so he won't, as you said, hang around here and haunt our sorry asses."

She shakes her head, tries to smile convincingly when she says, "I've got nothin' to worry about there. Even if I was stayin', I've been doin' my part, respectin' his memory. You're the one who needs to kiss up to him."

"You don't love me enough to keep me from bein' haunted forever?"

"Nope," she says, popping the p like a kid.

"C'mon, Charlie, you haven't had a drop to drink since you got here. I'm not askin' you to get drunk; that's barely half a shot in there. Let's just toast our father, and put his angry spirit to rest." He winks at her and smiles, and she wishes she could, but she can't, and she can't very well tell him why.

"I'll pass. I'm not feelin' so well today, don't think whiskey's the best thing for me."

"What're you talkin' about? It's the perfect thing. It'll soothe whatever ails ya, I promise."

He's nothing if not persistent, she thinks, damning the King stubborn streak for the zillionth time in her life. "No, Landry."

"Spoilsport. What're you, pregnant or somethin'?" he teases, and she feels a flash of nervous heat in her belly before she rolls her eyes at him.

"No, I am not pregnant," she tells him, exasperated, enunciating every word. She hopes it's convincing — she's a damned good liar, now's not the time for that to fail her.

But now he's looking at her funny, and then he blinks, and looks at the bag in front of her, then the bread, then he whips his head toward the upstairs, then back at her, before he says, "Oh my God, you're pregnant."

"I am not-"

"Oh, shove it, Charlie. Lemons? Tilly left 'em on every table when she was expectin'. And her comin' back with banana bread and makin' you special lunch? Your 'friend from LA' comin' all this way just to be with you? Not a single drink, and you lookin' tired and green all day. You're knocked up."

"We were outta lemons for more lemonade, I had Big Daddy to deal with all day and Tilly feels bad for me, Cooper and I are… workin' out some issues, and he feels guilty cuz my father's dyin', and I'm a little flu-ish. That's all."

He's still lookin' at her like she's lyin' through her teeth — which she is — but she still thinks there's a chance she can throw him off this particular scent.

That is, until Cooper pokes his head in. He starts to say something, but Landry cuts him off, accusing, "You got my big sister pregnant."

Cooper's clearly thrown by the situation, and she starts to shake her head while Landry's not lookin', but she doesn't have enough time — his moment of surprise lasts only a half-second before he blurts, "Not on purpose."

"Cooper!"

"What?"

Landry grins, shakes his head. "Always ask the guys; they can't ever keep their mouths shut."

"I just told him I wasn't," Charlotte tells Cooper through clenched teeth, and he looks suitable guilty.

"Oh. I figured — I mean, I thought since he was saying it like that — I thought he knew."

"Well, now he does."

"Yes, I do," Landry says smugly.

Charlotte's scowl deepens as she turns it on her brother. "Do not breathe a word of this to the family, y'hear? And I'm not just talkin' friends and cousins - I mean Dean and Lou, Henrietta and Beau, even Momma and Duke. Not a word."

His smirk holds for another few seconds until he seems to realize she means business, then it starts to fade. "You serious?"

"Dead serious," she says, realizing just a second too late that it might not be the most appropriate turn of phrase at the moment. "The only people outside this room who know are Tilly and Laney, and I want it to stay that way."

"You told Laney before your own momma and brother?"

"I threw up out her car door; she kinda figured it out on her own."

"And you don't think Laney went home and told her Momma first thing?"

"I know she didn't," Charlotte says confidently. "Laney knows how to keep a confidence, unlike some people I know." She gaze flicks between Cooper and Landry, and Cooper mutters something quietly about thinking he knew, and being sorry.

"I don't see what the big deal is," Landry says. "You're grown, you're allowed to make all the bastard babies you want."

"Hey-" Cooper starts, but Charlotte holds up a hand to silence him. He's opened his mouth enough in the last few minutes; this is between her and Landry now.

"The big deal is that we're here to put Big Daddy to rest, not to make a big stink about me bein' knocked up. Now, I mean it. I want you to promise me you won't say anything to anyone. Not a soul."

Landry sighs heavily and nods. "Fine, alright. I'll keep your damned secret - but you should really pull Doc Taylor aside at the funeral tomorrow. You know Momma won't want to talk about what happened, and if you fall to the family curse you'll want to know what to look out for."

Cooper's attention seems to pique at that — he stands a little straighter, looks between the two of them.

Shit.

Charlotte speaks before he gets a chance to. "I'm surrounded by doctors, Landry - I am one myself, in case you've forgotten. I don't need to talk to doctor Taylor. He'll just tell his wife, who will tell her whole damned prayer circle, who will tell the preacher's wife, who will put me in the Sunday bulletin prayer list, and then everyone in the damned parish will know, and Momma will call me screamin' about how I didn't even have the decency to tell her myself."

"Well, then maybe you should tell her," Landry points out, and then Cooper finally manages to get his word in.

"I'm sorry, can we back up to 'family curse'?" He turns his attention to Charlotte. "What's he talking about?"

Damnit, she was hopin' they'd managed to steer past that. "Nothin'. Just superstition."

"Don't let Momma hear you say that," Landry warned, and Charlotte just wishes he'd shut up. She knows Cooper, and she has a feeling she's about to step in it with him if Landry keeps it up. "Or Lou, or any of the other women on Momma's side. Buryin' babies isn't superstition."

"Burying babies?" Cooper looks to Landry, then Charlotte, then back again. "Okay, somebody talk to me. What is going on?"

"It's nothin'," Charlotte insists again. "The women on my momma's side just have back luck with babies, that's all."

"What? Like, a congenital defect, or…?"

"No, just… bad luck. Nothin' consistent."

"Okay, bad luck isn't helping me here," Cooper says, and Charlotte can tell by the way his body's tensin' up, the way his speech is goin' quicker that he's workin' himself into a panic over this. And he's gonna blame it all on her. He turns to Landry and says, "Specifics, please?"

"Hey - I'm right here," Charlotte says, reachin' for his arm to draw his attention back to her.

"Yeah, and you're giving me the runaround," Cooper points out, before adding, "Ask the guy; he can never keep his mouth shut."

Landry lifts his drink in acknowledgement, and nods, then looks to Charlotte. "You're carryin' his baby, he has a right to know."

"Thank you."

"There's nothin' to know, Landry."

"Then it won't matter if I tell him," Landry answers, and Charlotte knows she's lost this one so she just slumps back a little in her chair and reaches for a glass without booze in it. Landry takes it as assent, and tells Cooper, "She's right in that it's nothin' specific - the only thing they all seem to have in common is long, painful labors - and that's when it goes well. Our cousin Laney was a twin - they were born real early, and her brother died before they ever left the hospital. Momma's cousin Henrietta had four babies, all four emergency c-sections, our third-cousin Beth has a hostile uterus and the few times she's managed to get pregnant, she's lost 'em by the time she's halfway to full term, and Momma had as many miscarriages as she had babies." He lifts his glass and mutters, "Hence all the drinkin'," before he takes a sip.

Cooper turns to Charlotte, livid. "And you didn't think I might need to know this?"

Charlotte shifts uncomfortably. "Big Daddy's side is just fine - a breech c-section, and a close call with a stuck shoulder, and that's it. Short labors, full term babies, barely so much as a hiccup in the whole family line. It's a crap shoot. I'm just hopin' I'll be fine."

"You're just hoping you'll be fine," Cooper repeats, shaking his head. "Y'know, you are unbelievable sometimes." He steps closer, presses a hand to her belly, and Charlotte startles a little, and tenses. He keeps his voice low, but it doesn't take much of the heat out of it. "This our baby in there — _ours_ — yours and mine, and if there are gonna be problems, if there's even so much as a chance there will be complications, I deserve to know. I don't want you shooting craps with my kid, Charlotte."

He probably has a right to be mad, and she's too tired to find more arguments as to why she's right — because she knows he won't go for "it was none of your business," or "I didn't think you'd care," or, really, anything else she could come up with. So she lifts her chin a little, looks him in the eye, and says, "Well, now you know."

"Yeah. Now I know." He's got that look again - the one he'd had after he found out about her practice, right up until she told him she was pregnant. That hurt, furious look that somehow manages to make her feel like crap every time he levels her with it.

She doesn't know what to do with it right now, so she tries changing the subject: "Did you come in here for somethin'?"

He steps back, takes a deep breath and reaches into his pocket, handing over her cell phone. "You got a phone call. Laney Rayburn. Caught it on the last ring, but I didn't figure you'd want me to answer, so I brought it down to you."

"Thanks," she murmurs, taking the phone from him.

"I'm going for a walk," he tells her tightly, before striding past her and out the door to the back yard.

Charlotte stares down at her phone for a second, then unlocks it and looks at her missed calls.

She's almost forgotten Landry is there until he speaks up, drawling, "Well, that went well."

She glances up, glares at him. "No thanks to you."

"Hey, I'm not the one keepin' secrets," he points out, but he softens a little as he asks her, "You want me to give you some privacy to call Laney back?"

"I'd appreciate it," she murmurs, pulling up Laney's number and punching send.

He dumps the glass of whiskey he'd poured for her into his own glass, then heads for the door, stopping after a few steps. "Hey, Charlotte?"

"Yeah?"

"Congratulations." He offers her a little smile, and then leaves her alone in the kitchen.

Charlotte lets out a deep, heavy sigh as she listens to the phone ring. She has a feeling that tenuous truce she and Cooper seemed to have found has just gone flyin' out the window.


	20. Chapter 20

Cooper hits the gardens, winds his way through them, and comes out onto the sprawling back lawn. Then, he keeps walking. He can't believe her - cannot _believe_ her - and yet at the same time, he can. Because this is something she'd do. Keep him in the dark about something like this, walk around like everything is fine, like it's normal, like there's nothing he might need to know about this pregnancy. Overtired, and undernourished, puking her guts up every day and working herself into the ground, when she ought to be taking it easy, ought to be doing everything in her power to make sure she's as healthy as she can be, to make sure she's well-monitored, to make sure she's done everything she possibly can to keep from having complications.

He wonders sometimes, times like this, what the hell goes on in her brain, what possesses her to keep secrets like this, and lie, and shut other people out. Shut him out. Because that's what it comes down to, really, isn't it? She doesn't trust him. Doesn't trust him enough to even tell him that their kid might be at risk. And how can they do this - parent, raise a kid — hell, get through this pregnancy — if they can't even trust each other?

The image of her face yesterday, as she stood in the hallways of Saint Ambrose and asked how she could earn his trust back, rises to the front of his brain, and he feels his face flush even more with anger. She'd looked so much like she meant it.

He spies a rock in the grass, thanks the universe for the convenience, and kicks it hard to vent his frustration. It goes flying off, bouncing once before settling several yards away.

He doesn't feel any better.

He thinks of calling Violet, telling her the latest selfish thing Charlotte has done, but when he fishes his phone from his pocket and dials, it's not Vi's number he finds himself punching in.

The phone rings once, twice, a third time, and then Pete answers. "Hey." He sounds distracted, but Cooper doesn't really care. And then Pete forges ahead with, "Are you calling to check up on-"

"No," Cooper interrupts. "No, don't tell me. If its bad news, I don't want it right now, and if it's good news - you know what? I don't want to know that either, because if I ask you to tell me good news, and you don't tell me anything, I'll know it's bad and I am in no state for more bad news right now."

"Are you alright?" Pete asks him slowly - a stupid question. Cooper is under no delusion that he sounds alright at the moment.

"Not really, no." He takes a breath and continues, "I just found out - and not from Charlotte, mind you - that her family has a history of high risk pregnancies and birth complications, something you'd think she might have mentioned in the month she's known she's pregnant, but no. No, because that would make sense, and be polite, and the right thing to do, and when does Charlotte ever do that?"

"Okay," Pete says coolly, "Is everything okay right now? Is she having any symptoms-"

"How would I know?" Cooper grumbles. "Clearly, she's not telling me anything."

Pete gives what sounds like a slightly exasperated sigh, and asks, "Is she taking her B6?"

"Yes."

"Is she eating?"

"Yeah."

"Real food?"

"Yes," Cooper sighs. "Banana bread and chicken for lunch. I don't know if she had breakfast."

"Has she thrown up since you got there?"

Cooper pauses for a moment, his agitated pacing stills to a halt as he realizes that while she's been miserable, and exhausted, and pale, and determined, the answer is, "No."

"Then it sounds to me like she's having a pretty good day, considering her recent symptoms - and especially considering that she's under extra stress. I'm sorry, I'm not really sure why you're calling me - unless you're just calling to bitch, in which case, I'd think you'd call Violet."

"You're her doctor now," Cooper says, getting to the point. "You're going to start treating her when she gets back?"

"For the symptoms associated with her pregnancy, yeah, but I'm not her OB."

"Yeah, I know that, Pete, but I don't know her OB, and she won't switch to Addison, so could you just, y'know, keep an eye on her for me? Let me know if there's anything you're worried about, or anything that she should get checked out that she's not?"

"I'll tell _Charlotte_ if there's anything I'm worried about or think she should have looked at, whether she wants to share that with you is up to her."

"She _doesn't_ share things with me, Pete, that's been made pretty damned clear, that why I'm asking you to-"

"Cooper, I'm not a therapist, and I'm not a go-between. If you want Charlotte to talk to you more, then talk to her about it, but I'm not violating confidentiality by telling you anything she hasn't given me express permission to share. I'm her doctor, she's my patient, and I think you more than anyone should understand how violating Charlotte's trust wouldn't benefit any of us."

"It'd benefit me."

"Well, not everything is about you," he says, and Cooper can tell he's irritated now, which just pisses him off even more. How anyone can take Charlotte's side over his right now is beyond him.

He switches tactics, "No, you're right, it's not about me. It's about that baby she's carrying, and what's best for it, and if she isn't going to care about it, I'm damned well going to make sure-"

"Is that really what you think? That she doesn't care?" Cooper doesn't answer. "Trust me, she cares more than you'd expect, and I don't think she's going to willingly endanger her child by being careless right now. So how about instead of bitching at me, you rein in your temper a little bit, and go talk to her about it. And, if it makes you feel any better, if she's ever reluctant about a treatment I think is really necessary, I promise to badger her into it. Now can I please get back to my other patients?"

"Yeah. Fine. Thanks," Cooper mutters, hanging up the phone. He's not any less pissed than he was when he dialed, but he does take a small amount of comfort in knowing that Charlotte must have said something to convince Pete that she really is invested in their baby.

For a second, he considers going back inside, but he knows he's too mad not to yell at her, and he's got enough self control to remind himself that a blow-out fight with him isn't what she needs on the day her father died. So he stays out here, in the sticky heat of the Alabama afternoon.

Tilly wasn't lying when she said he should check out the back yard. It's huge, with a walkway of large, flat stones leading to a cobblestone patio that looks big enough to host a decently sized party. The patio is ringed with more flower beds, and there's an empty fire pit in the center, a bricked grill built into one side. The lawn itself is edged by a thin forest, and slopes lazily down toward a large red barn in the distance. He can see a couple of horses pacing lazily through the attached corral, and decides to head that way. Maybe the walk will help him cool off. If not, at least the horses will give him something to focus on other than how mad he is.

Of course, that's a figurative "cool off," because by the time he reaches the stables, there's sweat dripping down his spine, and he's having fantasies about an icy, cool drink. Why anyone in their right mind would choose to live somewhere this hot and humid is beyond him. He can't imagine what it must be like in the dead heat of summer. I mean, sure, LA gets warm, but at least it never feels like a swamp.

It's quiet down here. His only company is the horses - a warm chestnut, a palomino, and a jet black one making its way around the corner of the barn and into view. Good, he thinks. No one to bother him.

There's a door ajar on the stable wall, and Cooper looks over his shoulder at the house - all the windows are empty, there's no one to take issue with him snooping a little, and maybe if he's lucky there will be a water cooler or a faucet or something in there. The door creaks just a little as he pushes it open, but other than that, the place seems to be well-kept. He's stepped into a mud room of sorts, and the air smells like hay, and dirt, and horses. It reminds him of summer camp, and for a second he tries to channel the memory (it's something Violet would tell him to do, he thinks - focus on something happy to help him clear the rage) - afternoon summer sun, the smell of trees, the lake just past the camp stables, the campers all rowdy and hopped up on fresh air and freedom, just being kids…. Of course, thinking about kids makes him think about Charlotte and the baby and the lying, and there's the rage again, strong as ever.

He tries to shake it off, focusing again on his hunt for something to slake his thirst. There's another door a few yards in front of him, a sign reading KING STABLES nailed to the front. He takes a chance, pushes this one open and finds himself in an office, with — thank God — a water cooler. There's also a desk, file cabinets, a shelf of trophies, and photos with slightly dusty frames on the wall, but he's mostly concerned about the water right now. He fills a paper cup, gulps it down. The cooler must be faulty — the heat of the office has made the water warm, and with a slight hint of plastic aftertaste. He grimaces, then the air conditioner box in the window catches his eye. He rounds the desk, presses the ON button, and it whirs into life, warm air blowing in his face. He nudges the temperature down to a cool 65, and moments later it's blasting a refreshing breeze at him. Perfection.

He drops his head a little to let it blow against his sweaty hair, and that's when he spies the mini-fridge tucked under one side of the desk. It's definitely snooping now, but he doesn't care - he reaches down, pulls the door open, and grins at the sight before him: a dozen cans of soda, chilled and waiting for him. He grabs a Coke, the can chilly against his fingers, and helps himself to the desk chair, turning it to face in the direction of the a/c before settling in and cracking the can open. The first sip is heaven.

He takes another sip and swivels the chair around slowly, taking in the room this time. One photo in particular catches his eye — it's on the far wall, and faded a little bit from age and the sun, but he recognizes the face immediately. She's younger - a lot younger - can't be older than her early teens, but it's definitely Charlotte. He wheels the chair closer for a better look, a smile spreading over his lips before he can stop it. She's in a riding outfit - helmet, crop, everything — a dapple grey horse peering over her shoulder. More scrawny than petite, she's all tanned, and towhead blonde, a small gap in the middle of her massive grin. She must've had braces between then and now, he realizes - another thing he doesn't know about her, although he can't find a way to justify being mad about this one. Just curious. It makes him wonder how much else he doesn't know about her. Makes him wonder if he'll ever find out.

He looks at that girl, looks hard at her and wonders if she'd learned yet how to lie — really lie. Wonders if she was a secret-keeper yet. But his rage is fading, just a little. Something about the air conditioning, the drink, the solitude. He can't feel his pulse in his ears anymore, his hands aren't shaky with anger. He feels like he should hold onto the ire, try to call it back, but -

He hears the stable door creak, sees the light shift in the few inches of space he'd left the office door open, and wonders if he's about to get in trouble for poking around. Nerves twist in his stomach, and he stands, pushing the office chair back into place just as the office door swings open all the way. The man who opens it is someone Cooper doesn't recognize, with dark blonde curls, a short, scruffy beard, and light eyes that flick to the last movement of the desk chair as it rolls into place. He looks at Cooper, and smiles.

"Don't stand on my account," he says, taking a few steps forward and holding out a hand. Cooper takes it, shakes. "You're Cooper, right?"

That throws him a little, but Cooper answers, "Yeah… I'm sorry, I don't know who you are?"

"Chris Carter - I'm Charlotte's cousin's fiance. They're all up at the house finalizin' the funeral plans; I figured I'd come find you. It's not, uh…" He stuffs his hands in his pockets, shrugs. "It's not really my place to be in the middle of that, y'know? They're not my family yet."

Cooper nods and mutters, "Yeah, I get that."

"Charlotte said you were out back somewhere; I figured the stables were a safe bet." He glances at the can in Cooper's hand, then asks, "You mind grabbin' me one of those from the fridge? I'd get one from the machine, but I've been ordered not to pay for it when they're not open for business."

Cooper nods, and heads for the mini-fridge, asking, "The machine?"

"Yeah, there's vending machines in the tack room — Cokes and snacks and stuff. For the students."

Cooper pauses at that, half-bent toward the fridge, the fresh can in his hand. Students. It's a riding school. He never put two-and-two together, although he figures now he probably should have, considering he's in a well-maintained office, and if he shifts his gaze just a little bit to the left, there's a flat desk calendar right in front of his damned face, this week markered over with the words "LESSONS CANCELLED." The things you miss when you're angry…

"Y'alright?" Chris asks him, and Cooper shakes himself out of his thoughts, and nods, standing and passing over the soda.

"Yeah, I just realized I'm not very observant," he says, and Chris smirks, cracks his can open. "I came in here looking for something to drink and got distracted by that picture of Charlotte," he points it out, "I never even noticed it was a school."

"Well, I wouldn't go so far as to call it a school," Chris tells him, moseying over toward the photo of Charlotte and squinting at it a little. "They do private lessons. If I remember right, they had someone brought in to teach Charlotte when she was a kid, and some of her friends got in on it, too. Her Daddy realized it was profitable, and decided to keep it goin', but it's hard to get a space if you don't know the family. The Kings didn't want strangers running roughshod over their yard. If it wasn't for Laney, my girl wouldn't be ridin' here."

"You have a daughter?"

Chris nods. "Libby. She should be in the book here, somewhere…" he says, reaching for a photo album on the shelf at his waist. He turns to the back, then flips through several empty pages. Cooper reaches his side just as he gets to the last photo - a handful of kids, ranging in age from five or six to teenagers. Chris plunks a finger down onto the baby of the group, a little redhead in a checkered t-shirt, jeans, and cowboy boots. "That's her."

Cooper tilts the album toward him for a better look. Libby flashes a bright grin up at him from the page - missing front tooth and all. "Now, that is a cute kid," he chuckles. "How old?"

"Five and a half."

"She get that hair from you or her mom?"

"Ah, that's all her mom. And _her_ mom, and her mom before her," he smirks. "The Beckett women have a redheaded streak in the family. Makes 'em good and stubborn."

Cooper snorts a little. "I know what that's like."

Chris chuckles and says, "Yeah, I bet you do. I don't know Charlotte well, but Laney's told me a story or two. You've got yourself a firecracker."

"That's one word for her," Cooper mutters into his drink, and Chris' brow rises slowly - clearly, there was a bit more ill intent in his words than would be considered polite. Cooper clears his throat a little, and continues, "Sorry, she just, uh… She was keeping something from me; I just found out. I'm pissed."

Chris nods his understanding, and asks, "Want to talk about it?"

Cooper can't tell if he means it or not, but he knows that Charlotte has been very clear about not telling her family while she's here, and the last thing their relationship (or whatever it is) needs is for her to be pissed at him when he's this pissed at her. So he just shakes his head, and says, "Nah, it's private. Wouldn't want it… spreading."

"Ah," Chris says knowingly. "It's about that baby she doesn't want anyone to know she's carryin'?"

Cooper frowns at that, taking another drink before asking, "You know about that?"

"She puked out my fiancee's car in the Sonic parking lot; of course I know," he smirks. "But nobody else does, as I understand?"

"Tilly does, and I just accidentally told Landry. But other than that, she insists on not telling anyone." He lifts his can again, but pauses before he drinks to say, "Which I think is ridiculous."

Chris shrugs a little, sips from his own can and says, "Well, I hear that apple didn't fall far from the tree. Lou — Laney's momma - says that Augusta and Charlotte are two of the most hard-headed, stubborn-ass women she's ever met. They get somethin' in their heads, and it doesn't matter if it don't make a lick of sense, they're stickin' to it. Caused some blow-out fights when Charlotte was a teenager; she'd go runnin' to Lou and Dean's and stay for weeks at a time until one of 'em cooled off enough to admit they might've been wrong."

"For someone who doesn't know Charlotte, you sure seem to know a lot about her."

"Nah, that's about it," Chris admits. "We've spent the last few days goin' over pictures - pullin' ones of her Daddy for the funeral. They had a bunch of Charlotte and Laney when they were younger; started tellin' stories. Several of which made me terrified for Libby's teen years."

A laugh snorts out of Cooper at that - he can't help it. "Well, you've still got some time."

"Yeah," Chris smirks. "Just enough time to have her momma make sure there are enough locks on the doors, and fit her for a chastity belt, and rig her with a GPS…" They're both chuckling now, and Chris shifts so his back is against the shelf, leaning against it a little as he says to Cooper, "You keep an eye on this kid, man, because they grow like God-damned weeds. Feels like five minutes ago Carrie was sittin' in my apartment, tellin' me she was pregnant. I thought it was the end of all my fun. Thought I'd have to get married, and drive a minivan, and wear Bermuda shorts with high socks or somethin'."

"Looks like you escaped that terrible fate," Cooper comments, his brain making note of _my apartment_ and _thought I'd have to get married_. Looks like they may have more in common than he thought.

"Yeah, Carrie didn't want to get married just for a kid, and it turns out babies don't actually come with minivans, and there is no crappy dress code for dads. So I lucked out."

"Thank God, right?"

Chris lifts his Coke can in a little toast. "You're tellin' me. Anyway, Libby is… the best thing that's ever happened to me. Me and her mom, we didn't work out, but I wouldn't give my little girl up for anything. I get that you're pissed at Charlotte, and I bet you even have a good reason to be, but don't forget that she's growin' somethin' inside of her that is gonna make you so damned happy. And that pregnant women are crazy — I mean it, they're bat-shit insane, man."

Cooper laughs a little at that, and nods, and fesses up, "She might have a high-risk pregnancy. She didn't tell me. That's why I'm pissed at her. I'm pissed that something could be wrong, and she'd be stubborn and keep her mouth shut, and I'd never know until it was too late."

Chris presses his lips together slightly, brow furrowing a little, and then he asks, "Is somethin' wrong now?"

"No. I mean, she pukes a little more than average, but nothing is, uh… there's nothing to worry about yet."

"Then there was nothin' to tell yet."

The irritation is wiggling back into Cooper again, working it's way into his veins; he can feel it. He gives Chris a sideways glare and says, "You're gonna be on her side, huh?"

"I wouldn't say that. I'm just sayin' that before you get all pissed that she kept somethin' from you, make sure that somethin' she kept is actually… somethin'."

Cooper lets out a sigh, and drains the last of his Coke. "I just want to know that she's taking care of herself. I want to know that she's being careful, and that she's being honest with me."

Chris smirks a little, and says, "I'm going to pass on some advice, If you don't mind."

Cooper waves his empty can in assent — he'll take all the advice he can get right now. He won't necessarily follow it, but he'll listen.

"When Carrie was pregnant, I used to badger her all the time. We kept gettin' in these spats about whether she was eatin' the right things, or takin' her vitamins, or havin' a cup of coffee when she shouldn't — and she wasn't really doin' anything wrong, but I wanted to make sure she did everything perfectly, right? And then one day my dad pulled me aside and said, 'son, you stop pesterin' that woman just 'cause you're scared.' And I told him I wasn't scared of anything, and he said, of course I was. 'Carrie has the baby, she has all the control, and there ain't a damned thing you can do but sit, and watch, and hope it all turns out right.' He told me to trust that she would do the right things for her child, not because I told her to, but because whatever I was feelin' about all this, she was feelin' times a hundred. All the responsibility for gettin' that baby safely into the world fell to her, and instead of makin' it harder on her by tellin' her all the things I thought she needed to be doin', I should be askin' _her_ what she needed. From me. Not the other way around." He takes a sip, then adds, "I thought it was crap advice - mostly because he was right. But I tried it anyway."

"And it helped?" Cooper asks, grudgingly, knowing the answer and not liking it. He doesn't want to have to be the one who eats crow over this.

"A hell of a lot. Unless she's shootin' up, or downin' whiskey, or workin' herself to the bone, just let her tell you what she needs. She's growin' a person, and I know exactly how frustratin' it is to not be in charge of that, to have to trust someone else completely with somethin' so precious to you. I can't imagine the frustration of her knowin' something might go wrong and not tellin' you. But all the pushin' in the world won't put you in control. So give it up, man. We're powerless to 'em when they're pregnant."

"Yeah," Cooper sighs. "We are. Thanks."

He can see the logic there, he can get that it makes sense, and yes, he can even man up enough to recognize that there's a certain amount of paralyzing fear that's taken up residence in his gut since Charlotte told him she was pregnant. But Chris doesn't know Charlotte, doesn't know how she can be, and Cooper's not sure "let her tell you what she needs" is advice that will really work in his situation. That would require Charlotte to open her mouth and actually trust him, and be honest with him, and share how she's feeling and what she's going through, and frankly none of that is her strong point. And he really, really doesn't want to have to walk into that house tonight and tell her that it's okay, that he'll give her a pass on lying again, that they can just go back to a clean slate. He's not ready for that yet.

Thankfully, Chris gives him an out: "But if you're not quite done bein' mad at her, they're gonna be at that funeral plannin' for a while. We can take a couple of the horses out, ride off some steam."

Cooper grins, pitches his empty can into the blue recycling bin nearby and says, "Yeah, that'd be good."

Forgiveness can wait.


	21. Chapter 21

Cooper smells like sweat and horse when he gets back, so after quickly gobbling up one of the dinner plates left out for him and Chris (apparently they'd been out riding a lot longer than he'd realized), he excuses himself to the shower. Laney's parents are still there — they'd all made small talk while he and Chris ate, pointedly ignoring the fact that Duke, Charlotte, and their mother were all conspicuously absent from the kitchen.

Charlotte wasn't in the bedroom when he grabbed his pajamas, either, so once he's showered and clean he goes looking for her. The house is silent, now. Almost eerily so.

He's not terribly surprised to find Charlotte in her parents' old bedroom. She's curled on the sofa, head on a throw pillow. One hand is resting next to her head, a halved lemon cupped loosely in her palm. Her eyes are open, trained on the bed where her father had been hours ago. If she notices his presence, she doesn't make any move to show it. Not until he crouches down next to her. Then, she comes to life suddenly, pushing herself up until she's sitting, one hand moving to her stomach with a grimace.

"I need to talk to you," he tells her, trying to keep it gentle. He wishes they could do this in another room. Any other room.

"Me first." He can tell she's unhappy, agitated.

"Charlotte-"

"No," she insists. "I have somethin' to say, and I'm gonna say it." Cooper tells her okay, and sits next to her while she takes a deep breath. "I just had what was arguably the worst day of my life. I'm more tired right this second than I think I've ever been, and I can't handle one more conflict I've gotta resolve while I'm here. I'm buryin' my father in the mornin'. This has to wait 'til we get back home. You can be as mad as you want in LA, but not here. I can't have a fight right now. Not today."

"I don't want to fight," he tells her, and he shouldn't be amused at the way her whole face changes, melting from stony determination to confusion, but he likes when he manages to catch her off-guard.

"You don't?"

"No." Cooper reaches for her hand, threads their fingers. "I don't."

She's eyeing him cautiously now, like she doesn't believe him. "You were pretty pissed when you left."

"Yeah, I was," he agrees, with a nod. "But your cousin's fiance came to keep me company, and he gave me some dad-to-be advice that made me a little less mad. Gave me some perspective."

Cooper watches Charlotte's body lose some of the tension it's been holding, her shoulders drooping just a little. "Okay…"

"So I don't want to fight. But I do need to say something to you." She looks away from him, then, and shakes her head a little, mouth drawing into a tight scowl. Like she knew getting let off the hook was too good to be true. Cooper lifts a hand, tilts her chin back in his direction, and leaves his fingers there as he says, "Look at me."

She sighs, and nods, and waits, looking for all the world like she's waiting for the firing squad.

Cooper gathers himself, takes a breath and lets his hand fall before saying, "I'm outside of this. This baby, this pregnancy, I don't have any control over anything. I can't help you, I can't make it better, I don't know anything that's going on with you unless you tell me. So I need to know you're gonna tell me. Everything, Charlotte. I need to know everything. You can't keep me at a distance. You can't keep me at arms' length-"

Charlotte interrupts, pointing out, "I'm the one who wanted to get back together."

"Yeah, I know that, I just…" He sighs, grabs her hand again. She doesn't squeeze back, but he's not surprised.

"You just what?"

"I'm scared. Okay? I love this baby, and I love you — I do — and I need you both to be healthy, and safe. And right now you're sick, and miserable, and, no offense, you look like crap." She rolls her eyes, tugs her hand away from his, and locks it with her other, keeping them firmly in her lap. "Char, c'mon — Seeing you like this… it's hard for me. And I need to know that if something is wrong, I'll know. Okay, so I'm not gonna yell at you, and I'm not gonna get mad, and we're not gonna fight. I just need you to promise me that you'll let me in on this. And not just if something's wrong. I want to be a part of this with you, as much as I can."

She's looking at him sideways again, lips pressed hard together, eyes narrowed, studying him, looking for something. She must find it, whatever it is, because she deflates suddenly, mouth dropping open, tongue swiping out to wet her lips before she says, "I'd have told you if somethin' was wrong. I know you don't trust me, but… I'd've told you. I'm not just gonna sit by and let somethin' bad happen to this baby." Her voice drops a little as she mutters, "Even if it is torturin' me."

Cooper offers her a sympathetic smirk, lifting his hand and rubbing gently between her shoulder blades. Her eyes drop shut for just a second, her face softening at the contact. Cooper's loathe to break the moment of peace, but he finds himself saying, "You got sick again, didn't you?"

The lemon in her hand was a dead giveaway. Plus, she's paler than she was this morning, and Laney had said something about her excusing herself halfway through dinner and never coming back.

Sure enough, Charlotte grimaces and nods. "Lou brought king ranch chicken."

"Yeah, I had some; it was great. Wait - did _you _eat it?" It had been delicious, definitely — cheesy, and creamy, and rich, and a little spicy. And a far cry from anything Charlotte should be putting anywhere near her mouth with the way she's been lately.

She blows out a little breath. "I didn't have a choice. If I didn't eat, they'd ask questions. It's bad enough Landry and Laney know," _And Chris_, Cooper thinks silently. Best not to let her know that, though. "I don't want everyone else to find out, too. So I ate as much as I could, then excused myself and came up here. Figured no one in this house right now has any interest in steppin' foot in Big Daddy's room, and it has its own bathroom. I think I barfed up half my weight." She swallows, heavily, like even talking about it is making her queasy. Sure enough, she lifts the lemon he'd almost forgotten she was still gripping, lifting it to her nose and taking a slow whiff.

"Does that actually help?"

She nods, breathes again. "Surprisingly, yeah. It's not an instant cure, but it helps a little." Her lips curve just a little before she adds, "Landry brought it to me. Guess him knowin' isn't the end of the world."

Cooper finds himself smiling, and wondering if that means he's forgiven for his little slip. He doesn't want to test his luck by asking, though, so he just keeps rubbing slow circles over her back. She's quiet for another minute or two, then asks, "You really wanna know everything? How I feel, all that?"

She's still looking straight ahead, and her hair has fallen, blocking her face from him, so he lifts his hand from her back to tuck a few locks behind her ear. When he can see her profile again, he says, "Yeah, I do."

"I hate this," she nearly whispers. "I feel like crap. All the time. Just gettin' through the day is gettin' hard. I'm exhausted, and my throat hurts from pukin' every day." Her voice wavers a little as she says, "And I just want a break. I'm so tired." She sniffles, once, then looks all kind of irritated with herself, dropping the lemon into her lap and wiping furiously at her eyes. "And I am _sick_ of the goddamned waterworks."

"Okay," he murmurs, comfortingly, bringing his hand back to her shoulders. She looks so miserable; all he wants to do right now is coddle her. And he thinks she just might let him - a rarity for her - so he decides to go for it. "You should get some rest. Why don't we go to your bedroom? I'll give you a back rub, you can get some good sleep. You've been taking care of your family all day; let me take care of you for a little bit, okay?"

She turns to look at him then, finally, and nods a little. "I need a shower. I feel grimy. Sweaty."

"You're sweaty?" he teases, dryly. "You should've seen me when I got in. Chris and I took the horses out, saw the rest of your property. You never told me your family was this loaded."

Now it's Charlotte's turn to smirk, one shoulder lifting in a pale imitation of a shrug. "You never asked."

Cooper chuckles, and shakes his head. "No, I guess I didn't." Then he pushes to his feet, and holds a hand out for her. "Come on - let's get you showered and into bed."

Charlotte lets her brows rise slowly, taking his hand and standing as she says, "_We_ are not gettin' me showered."

"Yeah, yeah," Cooper dismisses. "_You_ shower. I will wait in the bedroom."

Charlotte nods, then steps past him, using the loose grip of their fingers to draw him out of the room.

Cooper thanks God for good advice, and patience, and starts to think that maybe, just maybe, they can get through this pregnancy together after all.


	22. Chapter 22

It may only be half past six in the morning, but Charlotte's already been up for an hour and a half. Her queasy stomach woke her up promptly at five. She'd had almost nothin' to puke up this morning, on account of barely having eaten anything after throwing up last night, so she'd hurled up some stomach acid, then laid on the bathroom floor for twenty minutes until the worst of it passed. Then, she'd spent twenty more minutes in bed, listenin' to the slow, even sound of Cooper's breathin' in the hopes it would lull her back to sleep, before resignin' herself to the fact that she wasn't gettin' any more shut-eye. Best to haul herself outta bed and enjoy the few moments of solitude she might be able to steal before everyone's up and frettin' about Big Daddy's funeral.

So now she's up, padding quietly toward kitchen, thinkin' she might nibble some dry toast to settle her stomach. If she's lucky, nobody else will be awake to question her food choices. If she's really lucky, there will still be some banana bread left.

Of course, she's not that lucky, and her Momma (of all people) is sittin' at the kitchen island, sipping juice and reading — no, not reading; just starin' — at the local newspaper.

"Mornin', momma," she murmurs, heading for the bread box. There's only two slices of banana bread left (the boys must have been snitchin' at it late last night), and she knows she's gotta make it through lunch, so she opts for the plain white loaf beside it. She pulls out two pieces of bread, pops them into the toaster as her momma hums a greeting. "You're up early."

"So are you," her mother points out, and Charlotte shrugs a little, searching in the cupboards for something — anything — she can put on her toast that won't make her sick, but won't raise suspicion. Butter's out - she doesn't do well with dairy until she's got somethin' else in her belly- the thought of peanut butter's turning her stomach, jam doesn't sound much better. God, she can't wait until this pregnancy is over and she can eat like a normal person again.

She scrounges up a bottle of honey, and sets it on the countertop next to the toaster as she answers, "I'm always up early. I figured you'd be… gettin' your beauty sleep this mornin'," she finishes politely, when what she's really thinkin' is that she figured her momma would be in a drug-induced slumber until the last possible moment she could pull it off without lookin' undignified.

"Couldn't sleep," Augusta answers, and Charlotte's pretty sure she doesn't have to ask why. "The sun came up, and dragged me with it. There's coffee in the pot."

Charlotte would kill — absolutely kill — for even just a sip of the stuff, but she ignores it and heads for the island while her toast browns. "Nah. I think I'll go for a bit of this first," she tells her, reaching for one of the clean glasses lined up nearby, and the juice pitcher near her momma's elbow.

She pours herself a tall glass of orange juice and tells herself if she just sips slowly, it might not upset her belly. Besides, she needs the folic acid. And good Lord, this much thought never had to go into a glass of juice before. She fights the urge to sigh as she lifts the glass, and makes a point of ignoring the way her Momma seems to be watching her intently.

She takes the first sip, and is in the middle of swallowing when she feels the bite of it against her tongue, the back of her throat. This isn't just juice. She panics, coughs hard, ends up spittin' the whole mouthful over the countertop in the process and gropes for a napkin to press against her mouth as she coughs again.

Her momma's lookin' at her with one eyebrow delicately arched.

"Wrong pipe," she manages to croak. Her throat hurts clean up into the back of her nose from the force of coughing things up from where they don't belong, and she swallows against the ache before adding, "And I wasn't expectin' the booze. Jesus, Momma, it's six AM, you really think it's time for screwdrivers already?"

"They're a brunch beverage," Augusta excuses before taking another deep swallow from her own glass. Charlotte can't believe she didn't notice it before — her Momma's already halfway to sloshed.

She reaches for another napkin to clean up the mess she's made, her mouth tightening into a frown. Couldn't even wait until after the funeral, she thinks to herself. Charlotte just hopes she isn't so hammered that she embarrasses herself. All she says, though, is, "Sure they are, Momma."

Her toast pops up, and she's glad for the distraction.

"Besides, if there's any day I can drink before noon, today is it," Augusta continues as Charlotte returns to the toaster. "Your father's dead, you know."

Charlotte freezes for a second — just long enough for the piping hot toast to scald her fingers before she hisses and drops it onto a plate. "I'm well aware, Momma," she says tightly. "I was the one with him when he passed, remember?" Since her back is still turned, she lowers her voice to mutter, "The only one. Bunch of cowards." She pours a puddle of honey onto one side of the plate, figures she can get away with dipping and end up eating mostly toast if she's sly about it.

"I heard that," Augusta says, and Charlotte heaves an irritated sigh and heads back to the island with her toast.

"Good. I'm glad. It's true." She sets the plate down with a small clatter. "Damned cowards, the whole lot of ya. Big Daddy breathed his last with no one but me and a man he'd never even met as witnesses, while the rest of his family hid in separate rooms and drowned their sorrows with booze and pills."

"Charlotte-" Augusta cuts in, sternly, but Charlotte doesn't let her finish.

She looks her mother in the eye to say, "Y'all should be ashamed of yourselves," then she heads for the fridge to hunt down some juice that isn't heavily spiked with vodka. She brings a half-full carton back to the island as her mother makes excuses, as always.

"Baby girl, your brothers and I, we're more sensitive than you. Bein' there for that kind of scene-"

"Momma, there's not a sensitive branch in our entire family tree, and you know it," Charlotte shoots back, pouring herself a fresh glass of juice before picking up her toast and dunking just the very tip of one corner in the honey. "You and the boys just didn't have the guts to face the ugly truth goin' on upstairs. You hid. Least you can do is have the decency to admit it to the one member of the family you stuck with the task."

"That's rich, coming from you right now," her momma says, and Charlotte can tell she's gotten to her, but not quite enough to shake her poise. Certainly not enough to keep her from pouring herself another drink.

"And what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means your brothers and I aren't the only ones in this family tryin' to hide at the moment."

Charlotte scowls, and thinks that if Landry opened his big mouth, she's gonna kill him. "You're talkin' about me?"

"I am."

"And what exactly do you think I'm hidin'?" She asks, nibbling at her toast and trying her damnedest to be casual. She's pretty sure she's succeeding — after all, she learned from the best how to hide what's really goin' on underneath.

"I think you and that man sleepin' upstairs have managed to go and make yourself a little baby out of wedlock."

Charlotte purses her lips just a little and damns her brother's eternal soul to somewhere that'll make him suffer just a little. "Did Landry say somethin' to you?"

"Landry?" Augusta asks with a frown. "Goodness, no, Charlotte. Although I'm a little offended you'd tell your brother before your own momma."

Charlotte's caught, and for once, has no idea what to say about it. So she just eyes her mother, and chews her toast.

"Honestly, baby girl, did you think I wouldn't notice? Me, of all people. I've been pregnant a time or two myself, y'know. I know the signs. You're ragged around the edges, threw up your dinner - and I don't buy that 'it's just the stress' excuse you gave, not with the way Laney was lookin' at you, not with the way you spent half the night breathin' deeply in that glass of fresh lemonade. I've been pregnant with Matilda Jones in the house before, you know. I know all her tricks. And I know you went through that whole twelve-step nonsense-"

"It's not nonsense, Momma," Charlotte bites — this is a sore subject for them. Rehab. They've been over it more times than Charlotte cares to admit, and her momma's never been able to so much as admit she has a problem, much less seek help for it.

"—But that hasn't stopped you from drinkin' in the past. And here you are, sendin' your father off into the great hereafter, and last night you didn't have a single drop to drink. You won't even touch the coffeepot, and I haven't known you to start a day without coffee since Matilda started making you morning lattes when you were a junior in high school. Of course you're pregnant." Augusta lifts her drink in something Charlotte thinks might be a half-assed attempt at a toast — until her momma aims the drink at her, and then she realizes it's just a way to accentuate the point. "I just can't figure out why the hell you think you'd need to hide it from you own flesh and blood."

Charlotte sighs, sets her toast down. "This weekend isn't about me, Momma. It's about Big Daddy. I just… I thought it'd be unseemly comin' home to put Big Daddy to rest and announcin' to the whole family I'm carryin' a bastard baby."

"So don't announce it to the whole family," Augusta reasons. "But you don't even tell your own momma?"

"You think you'd be able to keep it to yourself?"

"If you asked me to, yes. I keep secrets very well, you know that."

"When you're sober," Charlotte mutters into her juice.

"What was that?"

She looks up, sighs. "I said you keep secrets well when you're sober, Momma, but I can't exactly count on that this weekend, so I didn't say anythin' about the baby."

"Charlotte, I may have a drink or two from time to time — and I may have a few more than usual this weekend — but I am not goin' to make a fool of myself — or you — in front of our guests."

"Really?" Charlotte challenges.

"Really."

Charlotte levels her mother with a look, meets her square in the eye and says, "You're tellin' me you'll be sober enough at eleven to remember you probably shouldn't tell Aunt Lou about the baby your daughter is carryin'? You're not gonna decide after a few Valium that Uncle Buster oughta know that you're gonna be a grandma? You're not gonna introduce Cooper as the guy who knocked up big Daddy's only daughter? Because that's what I'm worried about Momma. You're a loose cannon right now, and I don't want this to be made everyone's business."

"Charlotte, that's enough," Augusta cuts her off, and Charlotte's heart isn't in the fight right now, so she lets it go, and takes another nibble of toast. "How do you think Big Daddy would feel about the way you're talkin' to me right now?"

And now her heart's back in it. She straightens her back, lifts her chin and tells her mother, "Don't you do that right now. Don't you dare use Big Daddy against me. You think it's been easy, bein' here, takin' him off life support and knowin' that if he'd only lasted a little bit longer, he'd have gotten to know he'd be a grand-daddy? Or, heaven forbid, seen his grandchild born? You think it's easy knowin' that the last time I talked to him, I already knew, but I decided to wait until I could tell him in person, and now he's just gone? I'm doin' the best I can, Momma, but-" Her voice breaks, and she damns the stupid hormones that are about to make her cry. "You have no idea what it's like to be here, knowin' what's goin' on right now, knowin' I'm carryin' this little secret, and knowin' that if he was still here it wouldn't have to be a secret. Wouldn't have to be. He'd scold me for bein' careless — which I wasn't — and intimidate Cooper into the ground, and then he'd—" Her breath hitches. "He'd—" Again, and she's had enough of these stupid, useless crying jags in the last few weeks to know she's just about done here.

And then, to make matters even worse, her mother has a rare moment of warmth and makes this sympathetic noise, and before she knows it, Augusta's rounded the island and pulled Charlotte into a hug. An actual, God's honest, tight-armed hug, and that's it. That's all she's got left in her before she gives in to tears. She just can't seem to let go of the unfairness of it all, of this whole baby business happening now, in the midst of all this death.

One tear spills down her cheek, and then another, and Charlotte flushes with humiliation when a sob breaks through.

And there her momma is, shushing her and holding on.

It makes the ache in her chest sharper, the lump in her throat heavy as a stone, and Charlotte feels tendrils of panic climb up her spine. If she lets herself cry like this, she won't stop. And she doesn't have time for that right now. There's too much to do today for her to fall apart. So she pushes against her Momma, shoves against her arms instead of leaning into them, and says, "I can't do this," as she steps back and beelines for the door to the gardens, and the breathing space to pull herself together.

She never notices that her Momma's eyes are wet too.


	23. Chapter 23

The bed is empty when Cooper wakes up, which doesn't surprise him — Charlotte's always been an early riser. What does surprise him is finding Charlotte's mother waiting for him right outside the bedroom door when he opens it.

"Uh… hi," he greets, feeling suddenly awkward in his pajamas, all sleep-wrinkled. Augusta had been keeping herself tucked away since long before Cooper arrived (except, of course, for the funeral planning and dinner that he and Chris managed to miss), so this is the first he's seen of her, aside from a few photos around the house. She looks a little more together than he'd have expected for the morning of her husband's funeral, but that may have something to do with the determined scowl on her face. He knows now where Charlotte gets it — and knows from experience it means he's probably in trouble.

"You march your butt right back into that bedroom, young man," she orders. "I want to speak with you."

Cooper doesn't even have to ask to know what's going on: the jig is up. Mom knows. He swallows hard, and dutifully takes a few steps back. Once the doorway is clear she breezes through, and Cooper settles himself on the edge of the unmade bed and looks earnestly at her. "Speak away," he tells her, aiming for friendly and charming. "I'm all ears."

"My husband isn't here to do this, so it falls to me," she tells him, and he can tell now, just a little, that she's not entirely sober. "You got my Charlotte pregnant."

He's about to cop to it, but then he remembers what happened with Landry. "I'm sorry?"

"Oh, don't play dumb with me. I know; I knew long before she said anything. And I know that's why you're here."

Cooper lets out a breath, and apologizes immediately. "I'm sorry. I let it slip to Landry yesterday and Charlotte would have my head if I did it again with you." He takes a deep breath. "Yes, Charlotte and I are having a baby, and I came because I was worried about her. She said she could manage on her own, but she's been so sick, and I could tell how hard the whole situation was going to be on her. I wanted to be here for her."

Augusta raises her chin in a way that's so classically Charlotte that Cooper has to fight not to laugh. "You intend to stick by her?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"You're going to do the right thing?"

Cooper swallows hard, unsure what she means by that. "If by the right thing you mean marriage, I think that's something Charlotte and I would have to discuss before I answer that… And we haven't. Discussed that. Yet." She raises one brow, slowly. "We're not even… Our relationship is complicated right now."

Augusta looks him up and down for a minute, then surprises him by sitting next to him on the bed. "She's stubborn. She's strong, and she's capable, and she doesn't need anybody's help to get by, but I can tell you from experience that carryin' a baby isn't a walk in the park, and there's nothin' you can do to prepare yourself for it. You may be big fancy doctors, you may have read all the books, but the reality of it is different. Whether the two of you get married or not, she's going to need support. Whether she wants to admit it or not, she's going to need you. And as her Momma, I need your word that you're going to be there for her. I need to know that my baby girl is going to be taken care of, even when she's being willful, and stubborn, and tryin' to wrestle the whole world to go her way like she does."

Cooper's a little surprised. From what Charlotte had said, her mom wasn't exactly the mothering type, yet here she was, all mama-bear and concerned. He smiles at her, nods. "I promise. Your baby is carrying my baby; I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure both of them are well taken care of."

Augusta nods, and then her whole demeanor changes, her mouth moving into a deep scowl, her eyes suddenly focusing on the floor in front of her. She takes a deep breath, steels herself in just the way Charlotte does — it's uncanny.

"Our family has a history…" she begins, and Cooper can tell this isn't a road she wants to go down, so he puts her out of her misery, fast.

"She told me."

She nods. "You keep an eye on her. I know my Charlotte, and she won't slow down for anythin', unless she absolutely has to. And even then, only if someone pays enough mind to force her into it. If she falls to the family curse, she'll need her arm twisted. You twist until she gives."

"Yes, ma'am," he tells her again, nodding dutifully, and trying to fight a smile. He'd never for the life of him imagined having _this_ conversation with Charlotte's mom.

Before either one of them can say another word, there's a clamor of footfalls in the hall, and Charlotte shows up in the doorway, out of breath and looking all sleep-mussed.

"Momma, what are you doin'?" she asks suspiciously, looking from Cooper to Augusta, and back again.

"Talkin' to the father of my future grandbaby," Augusta answers with a smile. "Findin' out his intentions."

"Momma!" Charlotte scolds. "Honestly. I fall asleep on the sofa for twenty minutes, and you're in here readin' him the riot act."

"There was no rioting," Cooper assures. "Just chatting."

Charlotte raises her eyebrows. "Chatting?"

"Yes," her mother confirms, sharing a look with Cooper before she pushes to her feet and heads for the door. "And now that I have you both together… Congratulations. I can't say it's exactly what I'd wanted for you," she says to Charlotte, and before the younger King can protest, she adds, "But I can't say it's bad news, either. I expect to hear from you at least once a month, baby girl." She glances at Cooper. "You make sure of that."

His "yes, ma'am," is instant, and he can't help laughing when Charlotte follows it with an "oh, Lord."

And with that, her mother is gone, and Cooper is left face-to-face with Charlotte. She puts her hands on her hips, stares him down and demands, "You're gonna tell me every word."


	24. Chapter 24

Charlotte is exhausted. Bone tired. More beat down than she's been in recent memory, and all she wants is to sleep for days. She's so tired she's startin' to feel like none of this is real. Like she's just walkin' through a dream.

If only.

If only she could wake up tomorrow and have this all just be some crazy, hormonal, pregnancy dream.

But it's not.

She knows better.

It's all too real.

The funeral went by in a blur of nausea, and a crushing, squeezing weight in her chest. Grief's a real bitch — especially when you're pregnant. She's never had to work so hard to keep from cryin', but man, that hour of services was a doozy. Standin' there, starin' at her father's body in the casket the whole time, feelin' like the whole church full of people were starin' into the back of her head, waitin' for her to break, or not break, or… whatever. It was torture. The only way she'd made it through her reading was by staring hard at the back wall the whole time. At the gravesite, she'd bit her bottom lip until it bled, the coppery taste not helpin' at all with her queasy stomach. And she's pretty sure Cooper has permanent half-moons in the side of his hand from where her nails dug in as she fought to keep herself together. And then it was over, and she could breathe again.

The reception had been easier — but only slightly. Either her mother seemed to think that bein' unfortunately pregnant was excuse enough to not hold up her social duties, or she was givin' her a break after she handled all the dirtier parts of her father's death, because Charlotte spent most of her time at a table with Cooper, Laney and Chris, and didn't hear a single complaint about it. There'd been a steady parade of people comin' up to offer their condolences, but she'd managed. And before she'd known it, they'd been off to the airport. Cooper insisted on drivin' — he'd made some excuse about her name not bein' on the rental car contract, but she knew he just wanted her to rest. And she had, fallin' asleep not ten miles out of Monroeville, and sleepin' like the dead until they were approaching Montgomery.

She'd wanted to sleep on the flight, too, but she couldn't stop thinkin'. About the baby, about her family. About leavin' Momma and Duke behind, knowin' the state they were in. About leavin' Landry to look after both of 'em. About Big Daddy. That's what really stuck with her. She'd seen the life leave him, seen him lowered into the ground, and all she could think of was how it didn't feel real. The whole time she'd been home, it'd never felt real. She'd been too caught up in the whirlwind of it all, just goin' through the motions of what needed to be done. But there, on the plane, it became a little _too _real. It was over. She was headin' home, back to LA. Leavin' her father behind under six feet of dirt. She'd never see him again - there'd be nothin' to see. Nothin' but a headstone.

All that strength she'd been holdin' onto finally failed her, and those tears she'd been desperately holdin' back had fallen down like a deluge, swampin' her. The pain of loss rippin' her chest open, tearin' harsh, panicky sobs from her. All she wanted was Big Daddy, and he wasn't there. Not now, and not ever again. She'd wanted out. 30,000 feet in the air, and it didn't matter. None of it. She was losin' her damned mind, and trapped, and a hundred people were gonna have to be witness to her grief, and it was humiliating. Cooper had held onto her for dear life, until the fight had gone out of her. And then he'd held onto her some more, until she was a snotty, tear-streaked, sweaty mess in his lap. A weak-limbed puddle of grief. She thinks she slept again, but she's not sure. She knows she didn't slink back to her own seat and pull herself together until they were preparing to land, and she knows her eyes still feel puffy and raw.

They're back at her place now, and she feels like she's movin' through mud. Heavy-limbed, and ready to crash, despite the fact that she's had at least two naps today. Cooper's layin' on the bed, pretendin' he's readin' while his eyes follow her every move around the room. She wonders if he realizes how subtle he isn't.

They agreed not to fight, but she thinks there's a part of him that's still pissed she didn't tell him up front about her family's "problems." Hell, she's pretty sure there's a part of him that's still pissed about Pacific Wellcare. They had a good night last night, quiet and tender, but she's still not sure where they stand, and has half a mind to change in the bathroom instead of the bedroom. But the tired gets the better of her, and, hell, it's not like he hasn't seen it all before — that's why they're in this mess. So she finds herself peeling out of her jeans and t-shirt right there in her bedroom, two feet away from him. He sets his book down then, and looks up at her. She's sideways to him, but she sees it out of the corner of her eye. She could turn her back fully, not even let him sneak a peek at the profile he's lookin' at now, but she doesn't. Let him look, she figures. Maybe he'll see what he's missin' and take her back already.

Showin' a little skin used to be enough to get her back in his good graces when she'd pissed him off, but it failed her the last time she tried it, and she'd be lyin' if she said that hadn't stung a bit. She likes the power her naked body gives her over him. Even if all it means is he can't keep from lookin', that's fine. She'll take that.

She reaches back and unhooks her bra, grimaces a little as gravity makes itself known.

Cooper must catch it, because he finally acknowledges what he's doin' by askin' her, "Sore?"

It's the first word he's said to her since they decided to come to her place from the airport. Truth be told, she doesn't mind; she's not really in the mood for chit-chat. Especially not if he's still holdin' any anger toward her. So she just grunts an affirmative, and reaches into her bag, still packed, sittin' on the end of the bed. Her breasts have been sore for weeks, and now they're startin' to get heavier, which doesn't help a damned bit. She's taken to sleeping in her yoga bra to help ease the ache, and it's somehow managed to bury itself in the bottom of the damned bag since she tossed it in there this morning.

She retrieves it, finally, but when she moves to pull it over her head, Cooper pipes up again. "Wait — don't."

Charlotte turns to look at him, poised with her thumbs still hooked into the bra. "Don't what?"

"Don't put that on," he tells her, sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, so he's sitting, facing her. "Come here."

Charlotte raises a brow, presses her arms to her chest for support, and takes the two steps that will bring her within arms' reach. "I'm here. Now what?"

"Grumpy," he mutters, and she barely has time to let her jaw drop indignantly before he covers with, "But justifiably so." He reaches up and tugs a little at the bra now fairly tangled with her arms, his lower lip jutting out in the pout he always thinks will get his way. "Let me see."

Both brows go up now, and Charlotte looks at him incredulously. He really is a piece of work sometimes.

"Let you see," she repeats.

"Mmhmm," he says, tugging again.

"Are you still mad at me?"

"No."

Her brows go a little higher, her look gets a little more suspicious. "You promise? Clean slate; no more hard feelings? About anything?"

"I…" He hesitates a little, and that's all she needs.

"That's what I thought," she tells him, turning her back on him with every intention of pulling the bra over her head, but it's gotten all twisted up and as she straightens it out, he's turning her around to look at him. She crosses her arms over her chest again, using them both for support and to cover herself from his pryin' eyes. The bra's dangling from her fingers now.

"There are still some hard feelings about… a few things. But…" His voice softens a little, "I love you. And I'll get over it."

She wants to tell him that when he gets over it, then he can see her naked, but it kinda goes against her whole _maybe if he sees me naked, he'll come around_ idea, so all she says is, "I'm too tired for sex tonight, Coop. Now, c'mon, hands off." She jostles her arm a little, trying to shake his hand off.

But he's not satisfied, because he starts up with that pathetic half-whine thing he does sometimes, sayin' her name, "Charlotte… Come on. Please. This isn't about sex, I don't want sex, I just want to see you. You're pregnant, with my baby, and I want to see… what's changed." His fingers trace over her belly, over the uncomfortable impressions her suddenly too-tight jeans left on her skin.

"Maybe nothin's changed," she counters, although they both know that's not true.

"You boobs are bigger," he points out and she quirks that brow at him again.

"How would you know?" She knows the answer as well as he does.

"I might've peeked," he tells her, with just a little bit of a fake bashfulness.

"Might've, huh?"

"Mmhmm."

She rolls her eyes, drops her arms slowly, and winces just slightly again at the ache. And then his hands are tracing over her ribcage, and she shivers a little, feels goosebumps break out all over her arms and chest. Cooper just smiles. Bastard.

His hands are warm when they cup her breasts, and he's using his bedroom voice by the time he murmurs, "See? Definitely a little bigger."

Charlotte can't fight the smirk on her face. His thumbs skate across her nipples and she swallows hard, curls her toes into the rug beneath her feet. Turns out they're not just bigger, they're also more sensitive. Who knew?

Those thumbs trace back to where they started, and she tries not to let on how good the contact feels, but it's enough to have her a little distracted when he speaks again: "They hurt." It's less a question — he already asked, after all — more a statement.

Charlotte nods, tells him, "yeah," in a voice that's just a little husky - which is just downright embarrassing. But then, it's been a month and change since she's gotten any, so really, what's to be expected?

Cooper leans in, and she braces herself for the onslaught of pleasure, but all he does it press a soft kiss to each swell. Because they hurt. It's almost unbearably sweet, and Charlotte feels her eyes well with tears again, and goddamnit she hates that part of bein' pregnant. Then his mouth wanders lazily, tenderly, just below her collarbone and she can't help herself — the day's been long, and miserable, and she's needy and tired, and so she steps in closer, wraps her arms around his shoulders. She's not sure if she's surprised or not when Coopers hands slide from her breasts, back around her ribs, until he's hugging her gently to him, his mouth slowed to a pause in the crook of her neck and shoulder.

The ache of missing him is suddenly so fierce it's a physical pain, like somethin' hollow in her chest. She's not sure how much more raw emotion she can take today. Her chin quivers humiliatingly as she tips her head down and presses a kiss into his hair. She breathes deep to take in the smell of him, then threads her hands into his hair and gently tugs his head back until she can look him in the eye.

"I'm sorry," she tells him quietly. "I should've said somethin' about my family, but I thought…" She trails off, looks away, shakes her head a little. "I figured if I thought about it, I'd stress about it, and I'd bring it on myself. I have enough stress already… I thought maybe if I didn't think about it, it wouldn't happen. And I know that's silly, but… when I think about it… I worry. And I've got enough to worry about right now."

He starts to say something, but she interrupts, holding the bra up again, "And my boobs really are sore, so have you had your fill of lookin'?"

It gets a chuckle out of him, and he nods, watching her pull the bra over her head as he says, "Ignoring a problem during pregnancy is maybe the worst thing you can do for it, Charlotte."

"Yeah, I know, and if I thought I was havin' problems, I'd take care of 'em," she reasons, situating the bra and herself, and then sighing at the relief of support. "I told you that last night."

"You need to get checked."

"My ultrasound was fine; I don't have any reason to worry, and I'm not due for another check-up yet."

"But if there's a problem-"

She presses a finger to his lips to shush him. "If anythin' even remotely out of the ordinary happens, I will go see my doctor. I promise you. That's just gonna have to be enough."

"And you'll tell me?"

"Yes, Cooper. I will tell you." Just for good measure, she repeats, "I promise."

"If something comes up, I want to you to promise me you'll switch to Addison as your OB."

"Cooper—"

"No, I'm not giving on this one, Charlotte," he insists. "She's the best. And if there's something wrong, I want you and my baby to have the best. You have to promise me."

It's a fair argument, and she knows that as good as her doctor is, Addison Montgomery is better. Still, she hates the idea of gettin' all tangled up in his practice, so she compromises, "I'll talk to her. If somethin' goes wrong, I will _talk_ to Addison, and, dependin' on what the problem is, and how severe the complications could be, I'll _consider_ usin' her as my OB. . That's the best promise you're gonna get outta me."

Cooper lets out a sigh, and nods — either he's satisfied, or he knows he's lost this one. "Fine."

"Good. Now, I'm about to fall over from exhaustion," she admits. "You're sleepin' in here, right?"

"Yeah, of course," he says, his hands finding her hips again, fingers toying absently with the waistband of her panties. It occurs to her that this is ridiculous, them bein' in this gray area, but him still sharin' her bed and gawkin' at her in her skivvies. And she's pregnant with his kid, for God's sake.

Screw it. She's bringin' it up again.

"So. You flew all the way to Alabama to be with me, you're here, sleepin' in my bed, and now I'm standin' here almost naked while you play with my underwear." He stops. Immediately. Not a good sign. "And we're still not back together?"

Cooper lets out a sigh. "Charlotte…"

"Cooper, this is ridiculous. I love you, you love me, we're havin' a child together; yesterday you looked like you were changin' your mind, and five minutes ago you were kissin' me while I was topless. So what more are you waitin' for?"

He opens his mouth to say somethin', and then doesn't. He just sits there with his mouth open like a fish, graspin' for words that don't come. Charlotte gives him a look, and finally he says, "I… don't know."

"Okay, well then, I'm makin' a decision. For both of us. We're back together, as of right now. And you can just… deal with it."

He laughs, and she thinks that's a better reaction than fighting her, so she smiles and leans against him again, takin' his face in her hands.

"I will earn your trust back," she tells him. "I'll find a way. But I'm not waitin' anymore; we both want this. And somethin' has to go right for me today. I need somethin' good."

"Alright," he tells her. "Okay. Fine. You win. We're back together."

"Good," she says with a smirk, adding, "Now kiss my mouth for once, would ya?" before pressing her lips to his. He leans into the kiss, his arms moving up her back and crushing her to him as his mouth opens and he kisses her good and proper. Charlotte snickers into the kiss, her heart feelin' light and thrilled for the first time in a good long while. It only lasts a second, though, before she pulls back and tells him, "But I mean it about the no sex tonight; I am in no shape for that."

"I know," he assures, lifting one hand to toy with the ends of her hair. "Get changed; come sleep."

"You, too," she orders, reaching down and giving one of his belt loops a tug.

They change quickly, although their brief moment of levity seems to have sapped Charlotte of her very last bit of energy, and she's startin' to feel heavy as stone. She damned near collapses onto the bed as Cooper turns out the overhead light. The bedside lamp is still on, making the room feel intimate and cozy. Charlotte can't keep her eyes open another minute, and they droop shut as Cooper crawls in next to her.

He rolls onto his side almost immediately, and shoves down the covers she's just pulled up.

Charlotte cracks one eye open to look at him. "Can I help you?"

But he's already helping himself, skimming his fingers along the waist of her pants and tugging them low to expose her belly. He looks at it, tilts his head a little, and traces his fingers over the skin there. "You have a little bump," he murmurs.

Charlotte frowns, and looks down, but he's laid his head on her belly to get a level look so all she sees is dark hair. "Not yet," she insists. "Just bloated."

He lifts his head and frowns at her. "No way. There's definitely a bump. It's small, but it's there.

Charlotte rolls her eyes, then closes them again. "I think I'd know, Cooper. I'm not showin' yet; sorry to disappoint."

He settles down into his pillows then, but leaves his hand low on her belly. "You're wrong," he murmurs.

"Will you shut up and sleep?" she drawls back.

"When you admit I'm right."

"Never." She's losin' steam, fast, the back of her eyes startin' to ache.

"Fine," he huffs. "Won't be long, though. Soon everyone will be able to see."

He says it fondly, strokes her belly with his thumb, but the thought makes her heart race a little, and not in a good way. She forces a tight smile anyway, and nods her head. Then his hand is gone, and the insides of her eyelids go black as he turns out the bedside lamp.

She lets out a slow, relieved breath, and the weight of his hand settles back on her belly.

This day is finally over, and she's glad to see it go.


	25. Chapter 25

Four days later, though, Charlotte's forced to admit Cooper might've been right. She's suckin' on a B6 pop, and tryin' desperately to find pants that fit without the button diggin' uncomfortably into her belly all day. She has her first session with Pete today in — she checks her watch — thirty-five minutes, and she'd rather not wear a dress. If she has to spend a half hour gettin' needles stuck into her, she doesn't want to have to worry about keepin' her skirt from ridin' up, too. Unfortunately, everything she tries is just a tad too tight. Not unwearable, by any means, but… tight.

She runs a hand over her belly, and there's no denying it. She has a small, but definitely there, baby bump.

Something about the knowledge makes her feel a little light-headed, and she adjusts the closet door until she can look at herself sideways in the full-length mirror. She tugs her panties down a little, smooths her hand over her stomach again. Jesus. Look at that.

God, people are gonna be able to see this soon. Her hospital staff, the doctors at the practice…

She takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly.

Now isn't the time to think about this. Now is the time to find some damned clothes that fit.

.:.

Pete isn't exactly caught off guard by the sight of Charlotte King standing outside his office door at ten minutes to eight on Tuesday morning — someone as anal and bitchy as her is bound to run early — but he is a little surprised by what she's wearing.

He looks her up and down as he approaches, takes in the baby blue velour sweats and zip-up, and black leather ballet flats. They don't exactly go together. The loungewear doesn't really fit with her perfectly done makeup, either. "Did Pacific Wellcare institute casual Tuesdays?" he mocks as he walks past her, and into his office.

She follows, hot on his heels and muttering, "My pants don't fit anymore, and I didn't want to wear a dress for this. Figure I'll change in my office before anyone gets there. Which means we don't have time to dawdle; let's get this over with."

Pete shakes his head, rolling his eyes while she can't see him. The few days she spent away from the office certainly didn't dull her attitude any. Still, she's a patient now, so he should try to be personable, even if she's not, right?

"You can always change in here."

"Where you can gawk at me? No, thank you."

"No gawking," he tells her, setting his bag down on his desk chair and gesturing her toward the padded table on the other side of his shelves. "I promise."

"In that case," she tells him, her voice losing a little of its edge, but not enough to be considered anything close to kind, or grateful. "I'll think about it."

Pete smirks. She'll think about it. God, she's difficult.

He grabs her chart, then the acupuncture needles, and joins her on the other side of the room. She's sitting on the massage table, trying to look bored, but he's not buying it. Her hands are on either side of her hips, gripping tightly at the padding of the table, and her gaze goes immediately to his hand before she licks her lips, takes a breath and looks away. She's afraid of needles, he remembers. So she's not just bitchy, she's nervous.

Knowing that taking her mind off the needles will help, he sets them aside and reaches for a blood pressure cuff stowed nearby. "How're you feeling?"

"You're takin' my blood pressure?"

"It's a doctor visit, and you're pregnant, so yes. I am." He wraps the cuff around her arm, sets the stethoscope in place and squeezes the bulb to inflate the sleeve. "Answer the question."

"Better," is all she says, which is a crap answer if you ask him.

"How's the nausea?"

"Improved a little, I guess," she answers with a sigh. "But definitely still there. I've been tryin' to eat better, and more often, all that. It helps, but I still get sick at least once a day."

He's only half listening, the other part of his attention on the sound of her pulse in his ears. "Once a day sounds pretty normal," he tells her, releasing the pressure of the cuff and setting the stethoscope aside. "And a big improvement from last week. Your BP's little high-" Her gaze flicks briefly to where the needles are resting nearby as she shakes out her arm. "But I think I know why."

"Why?" she asks, concern coloring her voice.

"You're nervous." Pete cups her shoulders, looks her in the eye and says, "They're not going to hurt. Relax."

She shrugs him off, and rolls her eyes, scowling. "I told you, I don't like needles."

"You won't even feel them," he promises, picking up her chart and writing in her blood pressure reading before changing the subject. "Cooper says you've been pretty tired."

"You're askin' Cooper about my health?"

"No, he's telling," Pete informs with a smile. "Every chance he gets. 'She's really run down, make sure you ask her about it. We had spaghetti last night, and she got sick - isn't pasta supposed to be easy on the stomach? Make sure she talks to you about-'"

"Oh, Jesus," Charlotte interrupts. "I'm gonna kill him."

Pete laughs a little and shakes his head. "He's a first-time dad. He's freaking out about as much as can be expected. He just wants to make sure you're well taken-care-of."

"He's meddlin'," Charlotte insists. "And I don't like it."

"Well, then I'll do my best to ignore it," he tells her, adding, "Lie down." She takes a deep breath and does, slowly. "And shut your eyes." One last glance at him, and they flutter shut, her hands settling nervously over her stomach. The slight weight of them pulls her top tighter and he glances at her belly. She is starting to show, he notices, so Cooper can stop fretting about whether or not her flat belly is normal at almost three months along. "I'm going to ask you a few more questions before I start," he lies. "Lay your arms flat for me, and keep your eyes shut."

Another slow, steady sigh and she does as she's told. Pete slides her sleeves up carefully as he asks, "Did you eat breakfast?" Then, he draws her loose pant legs up to her knees.

"Yeah. Eggo's. Dry."

He grabs the needles.

"And they stayed down?"

"Mmhmm. Had some crackers before I got up — you were right. It helps. Now I'm only vaguely queasy, instead of feelin' like I might hurl at any moment."

"Good." He starts inserting the needles carefully, and sure enough, she doesn't even wince. "And I know you're pissed that he's talking behind your back, but seriously — how exhausted are you?"

"I work fourteen hour days," she reminds him. "I was tired before I was pregnant."

"We're not talking about before," he points out. "We're talking about now."

She gives a heavy, irritated sigh, then speaks. "Last week, I felt like I was draggin' boulders everywhere, but this week's been a little better. I try to sneak a nap when I can. If I can get one in the afternoon, even if it's just fifteen, twenty minutes, it helps."

"Good, keep that up. And make sure you're getting enough iron — anemia's not going to help you feel any stronger." He's placed the last needle, so he steps back and sits in the chair nearby, pleased with his handiwork. Not a peep out of her during the whole thing. He glances at his watch, notes the time, calculates when the needles will be ready to come out.

"I'm takin' my prenatal vitamins," she says, a little defensively. "I'm not stupid, you know." Her eyes pop open, expecting him to be at her side. When he's not, she frowns and cranes her head to look for him.

"Relax," he orders her. "And don't move. You have nineteen minutes left."

"What?" She looks down, then, suddenly, and sees the needles in her forearms and calves. Her eyes go a little wide, and Pete speaks up again.

"See? You didn't feel a thing. Now, _relax_."

She's still frowning when she shuts her eyes again, and tries to settle into the table. "You tricked me," she accuses.

"You were nervous; I distracted you," he corrects.

"Whatever."

Pete smirks again and says, "The B6 lozenges came in. I'll send those home with you today, along with some teas that might help-"

"I hate tea," she mutters, and Pete fires back, "You hate everything," before he can help it. Charlotte's lips curve into a little smile, and suddenly they're both snickering, although he's pretty sure neither of them could really say what's so funny about the moment.

"Alright," he says, shaking it off. "You relax. I'm going to get some paperwork done. If you think of anything you want to talk about, let me know."

Charlotte nods, and takes another deep breath, and Pete heads to his desk to get some work done. Time flies in a quiet office, and before he's even had a chance to get through half of what's on his desk, her time is up. When he walks back to the table, Charlotte is still, and peaceful, her breathing slow and even. He can't tell for sure if she's asleep, but when he touches her arm and says her name quietly, her eyes seem a little cloudy as they drift open.

"Is't time?" she murmurs. Yeah, he's pretty sure she conked out there for a minute.

"Yeah. Needles are coming out."

"Mmkay." She blinks a few times with more intention as Pete carefully extracts the needles from her skin.

"Sit up — slowly," he urges, and she sits up on the table, running her fingers through her hair and clearing her throat. "How do you feel?"

He watches her actually stop for a second to take stock, and then she looks at him, genuine pleasant surprise on her face. "Good. A little heavy, but… good."

"Don't look so shocked," he mutters dryly. "No nausea?" Charlotte shakes her head. "Any soreness from the needles?" She frowns, shakes her head again.

"No, I'm good. Really… _good_."

"Yeah, you keep saying that."

She rolls her eyes at him again. "Sorry, it's been a while since 'good.'"

"The effects should last anywhere from a few hours to a few days, depending on how your body took to them. You might have some tenderness at the acupuncture points, and you might notice yourself going to the bathroom more often; that's all normal - especially with the point on your leg. It helps your energy level, and also regulates your digestive system."

"Oh. Lovely," Charlotte comments.

"Yeah, have fun with that," he teases. "You're free to go — and that offer to change in here still stands. I can shut the blinds, and keep my eyes on my work."

"Yeah, thanks," she says, and this time she actually does sound genuinely grateful.

While she slides off the table and starts to undress, Pete rounds the bookshelf and tips the blinds, then goes back to his desk and gathers the items he has for her — lozenges, packets of tea, a post-acupuncture pamphlet, his business card with his cell number written on the back…

A few minutes later, she's at his side, her body tucked into a sleek black dress that conveniently doesn't hug her growing curves, looking entirely professional and not at all like a woman who showed up here in her sweats. He hands everything over to her, watches her shove it into her oversize purse, along with the clothes she was wearing earlier, and then she's gone.

It's 8:32 AM, and Pete has already survived a session with Charlotte King. Now if he can just make it through everyone else, he'll be great.


	26. Chapter 26

_**Author's Note:**__ This chapter contains sexual content, and is thus NSFW (or, Not Safe For Work). If you're not into reading that sort of thing, feel free to skip it. You won't be missing anything crucial to the plot of the story._

* * *

><p>There's a text message on Cooper's phone after he finishes with his last morning patient. It's from Charlotte: <em>At St. Ambrose from noon to three. Stop by.<em>

He's not sure what to think of it. Is it about them? A patient? The baby? He knows she had her first session with Pete this morning — he's already asked Pete about it (it went well) — but he hasn't talked to her since. They're back together now, and it's… weird? Not in a bad way, not really, it's just different. Before, they'd been all about the sex, and the hotness, and, yes, the occasional conversation, sure, but it wasn't the sole basis of their relationship. Now, she's pregnant, and nauseous, and grieving, and it seems like all they do is talk. About nothing. Because she doesn't want to talk about any of the things that hurt (which is fair, I guess, but he really just wishes she'd let him in).

Their sex life is… well, they don't have one. And they've only been back together for a few days, so it's not the end of the world, but he misses her. As in he _misses_ her. He misses her body, he misses the things she can do with it — not to mention the things she does to _his_ body.

And he really shouldn't be thinking about this while he's in the car driving to see her, because it's going to get him all riled up, and she's still "too queasy for the slap and tickle," as she says.

So he forces his mind to something else, and makes the few turns he has left before St. Ambrose. He parks, heads inside and makes his way to her office, giving himself just enough time to work up a good worry about whether this visit means something's wrong with the baby.

His palms are a little damp as he knocks on her door, then pokes his head in.

She's sitting at her desk, and she looks up sharply when he opens the door (he probably should've waited for her to call him in), but then she sees that it's him, and she smiles. It's warm, and cheerful, and he feels instantly better. She doesn't look like a woman about to deliver bad news. In fact, she looks great. A little bit of that pregnancy glow has returned, and she actually looks rested.

"Hey," he greets. "You look good."

Her smile widens as she greets, "Hey, yourself. And thank you. I feel good. I started my mornin' with Pete stickin' needles into me—"

"Yeah, I talked to him about that when I got in. He said it went really well," he tells her, as he walks in and settles himself into one of the chairs in front of her desk.

Of course as soon as the words are out of his mouth, her smile fades, drawing down into a scowl. "Y'know, you really need to stop talkin' to Pete about me."

Cooper furrows his brow. "Why?"

"He's my doctor now, Coop. How would you feel if I went behind your back and told your GP all about your moods, and your pukin' habits, and whatnot?"

"He's a doctor in my practice, he's a friend, we talk," he excuses.

"Not about me."

Cooper sighs. Why does she even care about this? "Look, I worry about you. I want to make sure—"

"You're peekin' over my shoulder, Coop," she interrupts, and why does she always do that? "Even when you're not there. It's annoyin'. He may be your friend, but he's not mine, and if anyone's gonna talk to him about how I'm feelin', I'd rather it be me. Otherwise it's just gossip."

"Fine," he relents, because he wants her smiling again. And because he knows it'll make her happy, he lies and says, "I won't talk to him about you anymore."

She narrows her eyes a little, like she doesn't believe him, but then she says, "Good." She shifts a little in her chair, leaning back, her scowl relaxing into something close to a smirk. "So. As I was sayin', I went to see Pete this mornin', and he worked his magic. I feel good. Really good. Better than I have in weeks."

"I can tell," he says, and he really can, and it thrills him.

"I had breakfast and lunch — hell, I even had a snack. And I haven't been sick once. However," she adds, with a slight tilt of her head. "Pete said the affects are temporary. How long they last will depend on how my body took to the treatment, and since the last time he tried acupuncture on me, it did diddly, I'm not feelin' overly optimistic. So." She caps the pen she's been fiddling with idly, sets it on her desk, and looks him square in the eye. "Take your clothes off."

Cooper blinks. He must not have heard her right. "What?"

"I'm not nauseous, I have a free…" She glances at the clock. "Twenty-eight minutes, and we haven't had sex in a long, long time. Take. Your clothes. Off." It's definitely a smirk now, and a naughty one at that. "Oh, and lock the door."

Cooper feels all his blood rush south, and scrambles out of the chair to do what she asks. He flips the lock on the door just as she yanks her blinds closed, and by the time he turns, one hand already working down the buttons of his shirt, she's rounding her desk and contorting in an effort to tug down the zipper on the back of her dress. "Let me," he tells her — okay, it might've been closer to begging, but he doesn't really want to admit how desperate he suddenly is. It's like she read his freakin' mind with this, and he can't wait to get his hands on her.

He's in front of her in seconds, tugging her close and reaching around for her zipper as her fingers find his buttons and finish the work he started. Their mouths crash together and start up hungry, seeking kisses. Lots of tongue, nipping teeth, just the way he likes it. He gets her zipper down and shoves at her dress until it flutters to the floor at their feet. She steps out of it, and he flaps his way out of his shirt, cursing himself silently when one of the cuffs gets stuck on his hand.

He has to break the kiss to get it off, and she's already tugging up his t-shirt, so he steps back just enough to get rid of that too. She yanks at his belt, and he looks down, takes her in. She's in simple cotton panties and a bra — both black. It's a far cry from the crotchless panties of old, but he doesn't care. They're still sexy as hell. And, God, her body is amazing.

He tilts his head a little and grins, skating his fingers over her belly, and the little curve that's popped out there in the last few days. "Now you definitely have a bump."

"Shut up," she hisses. "I don't wanna think about babies when I'm havin' sex."

He arches a brow at her. "You do know that's where babies come from, right?"

Charlotte rolls her eyes, and tugs his mouth back to hers for a quick, messy kiss, before ordering, "Focus. Sex. No baby talk."

"Yes, ma'am," he murmurs, turning his attention to other parts of her body — namely, the parts trying their hardest to spill out of that black bra. It's not like she was lacking in the boob department before, but he wasn't lying when he said they were bigger now, and he can't wait to get his hands on them. He cups them, squeezes the way she likes, and she winces, and breathes, "Careful."

"Sorr—oh!" He was halfway through apologizing, but she was all the way through getting his pants undone, and now she's slithered a hand into his boxers and is doing something really, really nice with it. Cooper, shuts his eyes for a second, swallows hard, and tells her, "Couch. Now."

"Uh huh," she breathes, and he can't help kissing her again as they stumble backward. She nearly trips over her dress on the floor, and then nearly rips his pants when she grabs his fly to steady herself. He's just glad she had the quick reflexes to let go of what she'd been holding on to, or that could've been a real mood-killer. But it wasn't, and she's snickering at him now, murmuring a sorry, and then a, "Let's get those off," and in seconds he's sitting bare-assed on her office sofa, and she's straddling him in nothing put her underwear and… flats. Well, okay, he can just close his eyes and imagine they're those spiky, sexy, black stilettos she wears for him sometimes.

Or he can just close his eyes and enjoy the things she's doing between his legs again.

"Hey." She smacks him lightly on the cheek after a minute of really awesome attention to some very sensitive parts, and he opens his eyes to see her looking at him expectantly. "I didn't ask you here 'cause I was dyin' to give a handjob Pull your weight."

"Right." His hands fly to her skin, coasting up her bare thighs, squeezing her ass, tugging her closer to him as he ducks his head in to start sucking kisses against that sensitive spot on her neck.

She gasps, he bites gently, she groans. "That's better."

Cooper chuckles against her skin, one hand slipping down the back of her panties and continuing to grope her shamelessly, the other sliding up to her bra clasp, and releasing it with a practiced flick.

Charlotte pulls back, frowning. That's not the reaction he'd hoped for.

"Cooper," she scolds, reaching behind her for the free ends. "They hurt. Leave it on."

"Sorry," he murmurs, peering over her shoulder and reaching around to try and help her. He's pretty sure they're even less productive together than either of them would've been on their own, and it's only a matter of seconds before Charlotte's letting out a frustrated growl.

"Just let me do it."

He relents, she hooks it back into place, and Cooper leans back and runs his hands around to her front, palms skating across the fabric, careful to be gentle with her. Her nipples are hard, poking against the thin material, and he draws his fingertips over them in light circles, watching the way her mouth drops open, eyes fluttering shut. He keeps it up, and she's gripping his shoulders and letting out this little mewl of pleasure that usually requires a lot more stimulation from him. Interesting.

There's no way he's not taking advantage of this.

"Screw it," he murmurs. "Lay back. I can't do this leaving-the-bra-on thing."

To his surprise, she doesn't protest, just scoots off his lap and shimmies back on the couch until her head is against the throw pillow. She twists again, reaching back to release her bra, and then tosses it to the floor while Cooper situates himself over her, his torso cradled between her legs. He dips his head, swirls his tongue around her nipple and feels the long muscle of her thigh tighten and tremble against his side as she exhales heavily. Another lick, this one a little harder and she reaches for his shoulders, her nails digging in slightly when he sucks at her gently.

He does it again and her belly tightens beneath him, her body arching reflexively.

He knew pregnancy made women more sensitive, but this is wild. She's like a live wire, responding to every little touch. He lifts his head to look at her face, and her jaw is dropped, eyes wide open, looking at him like she's just discovering this, too, and he grins before he lowers his head again.

He sucks and licks, cups her gently with one hand and thumbs her free nipple with the other, and she's clawing at his shoulders, his biceps, stifling moans and letting out those short, heavy exhales she does when they're having sex somewhere she needs to be quiet.

He skims his fingers down to her hip, then draws his hand down between them, over the cotton between her legs. It's damp and warm, and as his knuckles graze over her, she slaps her hands down onto the couch cushions and grips hard. "Cooper," she breathes, and he can't help himself. He looks up at her as he tucks his fingers into the leg of her panties, touches her skin-to-skin, fingertips sliding through her wetness. All it takes it one touch in the right spot before she's gritting her teeth and swallowing a groan, eyes shut tight.

"You like that?" he murmurs, teasingly.

"Mmnuh huh," she confirms in a throaty exhale, arching against his touch. "Don't stop."

She clearly meant it to be an order, but it came out more like a plea, and he loves that she's so riled up.

"Oh, I'm not stopping," he promises.

He rubs her again, harder, and she squirms, bites her lip. This is maybe the hottest thing he's ever seen from her, and he's seen her do a _lot_ of hot things. But it feels like he's barely touched her, and she's already on the edge; the rush of power it gives him is intoxicating. He can't decide if he wants to draw it out and lord it over her, or see how fast he can push her over.

She makes the decision for him when she reaches down and circles her hand around him again.

He has to have her.

Now.

He shifts his hand until his thumb is pressed against her, rubbing her hard once (she jumps), twice (she can't hold back an "oh!"), three times (her breathing goes deep, deeper, she's almost there), once more and then she's gone, strangling a cry, pushing against him, her whole body gone rigid with pleasure. She trembles, and jerks, her face contorting with pleasure for a few long moments, and then she pushes his hand away harshly and collapses into the cushions, her breath coming back in quick, rushing gasps.

"Wow," she manages, and he can't wait any longer. He yanks her underwear off, with a little lazy-legged help from her, then parts her thighs again.

"Charlotte, I gotta…"

She nods, blinks her eyes back open, and slides her palms up his arms. "I'd insist on… bein' on top, but I'm a little…" She's licks her lips, still trying to catch her breath as she keeps talking, "…worried about that much jostlin' upsettin' my stomach. So it's your lucky day."

Surprise office sex, _and _he gets to be on top? Lucky doesn't even begin to describe it.

"Yeah, it is," Cooper grins, adjusting himself until he's pressed against her. He pauses just short of pushing inside. He's looking down at her, and he can't help but see the subtle curve low on her belly again. He's aching to push further, to rail into her and give them what they both want. But there's a baby there now, and he has this image of ramming into it's safe little home, and it makes him a little nervous.

"What're you waitin' for?" she asks, sliding her hands around to his back, down to his ass. She gives him a little push forward and he feels the slippery heat of her slide against him. God, he needs her.

"I don't want to hurt the baby," he admits, wincing in preparation for the onslaught he knows she's gonna throw at him.

Sure enough, she delivers: "Cooper," she says in a way clearly meant to make him feel like an idiot. Which is just great for the mood, by the way. "You are a _doctor_, you know better. The kid'll be fine. And talkin' about babies doesn't exactly make me feel sexy, so knock it off, alright?" She writhes teasingly against him, and his jaw drops a little at the feel of her. "Make me feel sexy," she challenges, and really, who is he to say no to that?

He tries to put the baby out of his head, readjusting against her, and finally letting himself ease his way inside. Now it's his turn to let out a shuddering breath as his mind just goes blank. She feels so good he can't think of anything else, can't think at all, and it's always like this, but this time is even better. Maybe it's because it's been a while, maybe it's because she's so hot and wet, and maybe it's the little moan she let out when he slid home, but it's just better today.

He settles on his elbows above her, and she lifts her knees and wraps her ankles around his waist, so he nestles just a little bit deeper. He exhales, presses a kiss to her shoulder, and then starts to pump steadily into her. Charlotte grinds her head back into the pillow immediately and Cooper lifts his head to cover her mouth with his.

And it's a good thing, too, because he's drawing little moans up out of her; she can't hold them back, and as her hands clutch at his back, and her teeth dig into his bottom lip he realizes this is going to be embarrassingly fast. He picks up the pace a little, the way she likes it (the way they both like it), and pushes himself a little harder into her. God. This is…

They break for air, his hips still steadily pistoning into hers, and she groans, "Unh… baby… yeah… like that…" and Cooper freezes.

Baby.

He's screwing her brains out on the sofa, ramming deep into her, and there's a _baby_ in there. He's not sure he can do this.

"What the hell, Cooper?" she breathes.

"I don't wanna — I shouldn't be this deep," he murmurs, pulling back a little, and trying to urge her legs down, thrusting again, but more shallowly this time.

"Wait — _stop_," she tells him firmly, and he does. "Please tell me you did not just adjust because of the baby." Before he can answer, she says, "_Not_ feelin' sexy, Cooper. Now screw me good and proper." And then she grabs his hips and yanks him hard against her, letting out a little shout at the jolt of pleasure. Her voice is a little shaky when she says, "Kid'll be fine."

"Right. Got it." He tells herself she's right, and he knows better, and there's no way sex can hurt the baby — certainly not this early. And then he goes after her with gusto, pounding into her hard and fast, and her eyes roll back and then close, and she breathes a heavy _Fuck!_, and he grins again.

She starts letting out these short, harsh moans that she can't seem to hold back, so he covers her mouth with his hand, and, good God, _she lets him_. Doesn't shove at him, doesn't turn her head, just bites lightly at his palm and holds his hips more tightly against her so he grinds against her a little more on every thrust. A minute later she lets out a whine as she comes again, fingernails digging suddenly into his skin, and he's a goner.

He spills all he's got into her in three last, deep thrusts, and then collapses his weight onto her, and echoes her sentiment from earlier: "Wow…"

"God…" she groans, satisfied, her heavy breaths pushing up against him over and over. He's not surprised when she says, "Okay, you gotta move. I can't breathe," but he's _exhausted_ from the sudden exertion, so it takes him a second to muster up the strength.

They're clumsy, limbs bumping into each other as they shift so he's wedged between her and the back of the sofa. She lays there, splayed open, one foot fallen to the floor. It's obscene and fabulous. He loves it.

And then his gaze strays to her baby bump again, and he walks his fingers over it, and teases, "I told you this'd be here soon."

"Mmhmm." She still has her eyes closed, a contented smile on her face. "Don't get all weird about it; I'm enjoyin' the afterglow."

"Fine," he mutters, scooting down a little so he can rest his head on her shoulder and draw his fingertips along the little slope in her belly. It's not much, but it's definitely there, and he can't take his eyes off it.

And then she says, "Cooper?"

And he says, "Yeah?"

"We're gonna be havin' _a lot_ of sex while I'm pregnant."

Cooper can't help it; he busts out laughing.


	27. Chapter 27

By some miracle, Charlotte's still feeling good by the end of the work day, so she sends Cooper a wickedly suggestive text, and then glances at the clock. He must've still been at the practice, because he makes it to her apartment in twenty minutes flat. They spend the rest of the evening naked as jaybirds, doin' all sorts of deliciously naughty things, and the pleasure is staggering. Unreal. So intense she literally cries after the last time, her system so overloaded by sensation that she can't help but leak silent, traitorous tears. She makes some excuse about pregnancy, and hormones, but she knows better. It's not the first time he's worked her up this much, gotten her to this place where it's like her whole body just goes haywire. Her fingers are shaky, and she keeps gettin' sloshed by surges of sharp emotion she can't quite identify. It's cleansing, in a way, almost. And since the tears are sob-less and laughable, she manages to not quite be humiliated by them.

"Sorry," she chuckles, wiping at her eyes, and Cooper just lays next to her lookin' smug as hell. Well, fine. Let him gloat a bit. He certainly earned it.

"Don't be," he murmurs, leanin' in to press a kiss to her shoulder. He lets his mouth wander in, over her collar, up her neck. She feels goosebumps rise on her skin, and fights a shiver.

"Stop that," she breathes, teasingly, but she tilts her head to give him easier access. "I don't think I can do it again."

"_You_ can't?" he smirks, a little rush of breath tickling the skin on her neck, and this time she does shiver. Damn him. "I'm the one who needs the catch-up time," he reminds.

Now Charlotte's smirkin' too, turnin' her head toward him and stealin' a slow, lazy kiss. "Wore you right out, huh?" she murmurs against his mouth, and then he leans into her, deepenin' the kiss, swirlin' his tongue against hers. God, she's missed bein' this way with him. She feels sexy again — finally — for the first time since she started feelin' nauseous and bloated and miserable. She'd been startin' to worry she wouldn't get this back until the kid popped out.

"Mm. Yeah, you did," he tells her when the kiss breaks, and true to his word, he flops into the pillows.

She snickers a little, then says, "As soon as my knees are workin' again, I'm gonna make a trip to the ladies' room, and then we can go to sleep."

"Mm," he grunts next to her, and she has a feelin' he'll be out before she makes it back.

Sure enough, by the time she pees, brushes her teeth, and slips into her yoga bra, he's dead weight on his side, breathing evenly, face smooshed against the pillow. She takes a minute to look at him — she likes him this way, it's all sorts of adorable — and then turns out the light and crawls in next to him. She scoots close and turns onto her side, her back to his front, and, much to her surprise, he stirs just enough to snuggle in behind her, slinging his arm over her side. She's still gettin' used to this — bein' all cuddly with him — but she can't say she hates it. And after the night they've had, havin' him close just makes her want to curl up and purr.

She falls asleep with a smile on her face, and wakes before her alarm to the feel of his tongue on her, doin' that thing he does that made her climb the walls even before she was pregnant. He'd done it twice last night, among other things, and she's almost sore today, but it's still good. Incredibly good. Really… really… incredibly good… She tangles her fingers into his hair and he takes her bein' awake as permission to be a little more aggressive. Moments later, she's flying again, tugging at his hair, her veins throbbing with pleasure. God, bein' pregnant is _amazing_.

She reaches for his shoulder and gives him a tug, then pushes him onto his back without a word and straddles him. She kisses him hard, his hands all over her now, and then he's nipping at her bottom lip, and just as she's about to reach between them and really get things goin', being pregnant becomes not so amazing after all.

An all-too-familiar wave of nausea rolls over her, and she pulls back a little, sits up, presses a hand to her mouth. Another one rocks her, and she squeezes her eyes shut. Oh, this is just not fair.

"You alright?" Cooper asks her, fingers brushing her hair back from her face, and she doesn't have to open her eyes to know he's lookin' at her with too much sympathy. She can hear it all over his voice.

She nods, just a little, then drops her hand enough to mutter, "I'm gonna lie back down…"

Cooper murmurs an okay, and his hands guide her back to the mattress. She blows out a breath, blinks her eyes open, then reaches for the sleeve of Saltines on the nightstand next to her. Cooper reaches to help her untwist the open end, and she scowls, and snips, "I got it."

"Okay," he says, holding his hand up innocently, then flopping back to the mattress.

The bed jostles with the movement and she winces. "Careful."

"Sorry."

She nibbles the corner of a cracker, and tries to keep the nausea at bay by sheer force of will. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Cooper carefully sit up and leave the bed, pulling on his boxers and leaving the room without a word.

If he's in a snit over this, she's gonna kill him. I mean, sure, it interrupted him gettin' his, but she's the one who's had to deal with this every damned day for the last what feels like forever. Least he can do is spare her the drama queen act.

A few minutes later he reappears, with a glass of water in one hand, and half a lemon in the other.

Well. Shit.

Now she has to go and feel all guilty for thinkin' ill of him.

He sits next to her, and smoothes her hair back again, like she's some sick kid, and she thinks to herself that she can at least be irritated about that, because she's not a child and not one of his patients. But she keeps the irritation to herself, and he says gently, "Here," handing her the lemon and setting the water on the nightstand next to her.

Charlotte takes it with her free hand and inhales the bright, clean smell. It helps. Some.

"Thank you," she breathes, still slowly makin' her way through that first Saltine.

"Mmhmm."

They're quiet for a few minutes, her chewing slowly, him sittin' next to her, strokin' his fingers lightly over her the soft skin on the inside of her arm. She can't decide if she likes that or not, but he looks so helpless that she lets him regardless. If it makes him feel like he's helpin'… fine.

She finishes cracker number one, starts on another. Her mouth is goin' dry, and she turns her head to look at the water, but the idea of sittin' up to drink it makes her belly lurch a little. She looks at him, hates herself for what she's about to say, and asks, "Could you maybe… grab me a straw? They're in the pantry, next to the soup."

"Sure, yeah, of course," he says, ever eager to help. It makes her smile.

"And, um, my underwear would be nice, too," she suggests, offerin' him a little smile. She feels a little ridiculous layin' here in nothin' but her bra.

He smirks, and hunts them down, and she shuts her eyes and tells herself not to be embarrassed as he helps her slip into them. The less she moves, the less likely she'll barf, she reminds herself. He's here, he wants to help, it's okay.

Of course, movin' even just that little bit makes her acutely aware of her too-full bladder (somethin' she'd apparently been too distracted by the sex to notice before), and now she's torn between waitin' until she's sure she won't get sick and forcin' herself up to take care of this particular problem.

She can hold it, she tells herself, focusing on the dry, salty taste of the cracker, the citrusy burst that fills the air when she gives the lemon a little squeeze.

Jesus, bein' pregnant is torture.

And then all too soon Cooper's back with the straw, and she lifts her head enough for three small sips of water. She's a doctor, she knows full well that those two sips are in her belly and nowhere near her bladder, but somehow they manage to push her just over the edge of tolerance and into my-back-teeth-are-swimmin' territory.

Great.

She lets the sleeve of crackers fall to the bed with an irritated sigh, then begins the careful maneuvering of slowly bringin' herself back into a sitting position.

Cooper tries to help and she glares at him. Can't help it. "Let me do it," she insists. "I'm not an invalid."

"I'm just tryin' to help," he reminds her, and there she goes feelin' bad again.

She forces herself to give him a little smile, and tells him, "And I'm just tryin' not to wet the bed like an eight-year-old, or puke on the floor like a drunken sorority girl."

"Ah. Got it," he says, giving her a little space. "It's a careful balance, huh?"

"Mmhmm," she grunts, finally sitting. She takes a slow breath, swallows against the nausea and stands.

And the gravity just makes every thing that much more unbearable. She doesn't have the luxury of a slow walk, not with the way her stomach is pitchin', and her bladder is screamin'. "Be right back," she tells him tightly, beelinin' it out of the room and across the hall.

She plunks herself down on the toilet and props her elbows on her knees, her fingers threading into her hair and fisting. She will not puke until she's done peeing. She _will not_ puke until she's done peeing.

She repeats it like a mantra while she empties her bladder, and her fingers are shakin' by the time she flushes.

"Don't throw up, don't throw up," she breathes while she washes her hands. If she can just make it back to her crackers…

But her stomach lurches hard, suddenly, and before she knows it, she's got her elbows on either side of the sink, and she's gagging up those two crackers.

Damnit.

Cooper knocks lightly on the door, and she curses him and herself and this stupid baby. "Char, you okay?"

"I'm fine," she calls back between retches. "Leave me alone."

He doesn't.

Instead, he opens the door, and a few seconds later Charlotte hears the dull thunk of her lemon hitting the countertop and reaches for it, holding it close while she heaves again. Cooper gathers her hair up and holds it away from her face, saying something low and soothing that she misses because she's caught by another wave of nausea.

He finds the pressure point on one of her wrists and presses down hard, and Charlotte's not sure if that's what's responsible for the slow fade of her pukin' spell, or if it's just worn itself out, but she'll take it either way.

She twists the tap on to wash down the little she had to throw up, then glances up at her reflection in the mirror. She's a little clammy, her eyes red, and Cooper's lookin' right at her. Great.

But then he murmurs, "I've got you," and there's somethin' so sincere about it that she can't help but lean against him and take the comfort he's offerin' her. She shuts her eyes, inhales in her lemon, and just breathes until it passes.


	28. Chapter 28

Hours later, Cooper and Violet are sitting on her couch, stuffing their faces with In-N-Out burger (animal style everything, Neapolitan shakes, a bazillion calories and every one of them worth it). Violet's talking about something, and Cooper's trying to pay attention, really he is… but he can't.

"I don't know, I know I made my choice and everything, but things are weird. With Pete. I mean, we're trying not to be weird, but that's weird — the trying makes it weird. I don't know. But things with Sheldon are…. Wow. I mean, wow, they're great, he's great, and I'm happy, I am, I think, but—" She stops talking, and frowns at him. "You're really not listening to a word I'm saying, are you?"

"I am," he insists, dislodging a cheese-drenched fry from its gooey friends. "I am, I swear, I'm just… I'm worried about Charlotte," he admits, and Violet slumps back into the cushions a little. She's not a fan of Charlotte, and he knows that, and she was in the middle of her whole thing, but this is important. And she's right — he wasn't really listening anyway.

So he pops the fry in his mouth, chews until it's not going to be rude to talk, and then starts in with, "Things were great, y'know, yesterday she was great. She was Charlotte again — sarcastic and sexy and just like she used to be — and then today… she got really sick this morning, and I tried to be there for her, I made her toast, I rubbed her neck, I was the good, supportive guy. But I didn't see her all day — like maybe she was avoiding me or something? I don't know. I mean, it could've been nothing, it could've just been me being busy and her being busy, but I stopped by her place tonight, and she was really upset. She'd found this old birthday card from her dad, and she was crying, and she looked…" He sees her again in his mind, miserable and wrecked, sitting on the floor of her closet with the card clutched in her hand and tears on her cheeks, and he can't help but let out a defeated breath. "Awful. Really awful. She'd been crying for a while — and hard, too — her eyes were all red and puffy, her face was red, her nose was runny. She was just a mess. And…" He sighs, and reaches for his shake, "she made me leave. She didn't want me there. She said she was fine, that she didn't need me to coddle her, that she wanted to be alone… But she's hurting. And I love her. And I'm not there. Should I have been more insistent? Should I have stayed?"

"She's grieving," Violet tells him gently. "Her dad's been dead, what? A week? She's going to have days like this, and for someone like Charlotte… I see people like her all the time. She has walls — I mean, she has freakin' fortresses, Cooper — and for people like that, sometimes it feels safer to hurt behind those walls. Is it right? Maybe not. Is it the best thing, emotionally, for her? In the long run, no. She needs to connect, she needs to be open. But it's also important for her to feel that grief, and to let it out, and if she has a harder time doing that with you there, then maybe — for tonight — it's better she get to purge some of those feelings on her own."

Cooper sucks his shake up through the straw, and absorbs what she's telling him. It makes a certain amount of sense — and he knows that already, that's why he's here, with her, instead of there, with Charlotte, but… "But she's let me in before. On the plane, on the way back from Alabama, she lost it. I mean, really, really lost it. She was just… gutted. And she cried, and cried, and cried, and I held her, and… I don't know, call me crazy, but I think it helped. Having me there. I can't imagine what it would've been like for her if she'd broken like that and been alone. And now she _is_ alone, and…"

"But she's home. She's in her own place; a safe, private place where she can release that grief. And it's good that you were there for her on the plane, it's good she had someone there when she couldn't keep it together in public — I'm sure that was invaluable to her. But tonight, right now, as long as she's letting that out, as long as she's letting herself feel the pain she's going through, that's… that's good. That's healthy. And you can check up on her, you can text her, or call her, or whatever, but… give her the space she needs to grieve."

"So I'm not a horrible person?"

"You're not a horrible person," Violet assures him, reaching over and squeezing his arm gently.

"Because I feel kind of horrible," he admits, setting the shake back onto the table and pulling what's left of the fries into his lap so there's less chance of cheese drippage when he grabs another. "And not just about this. About… everything? I don't know. I know that what she did was wrong, I know that opening the practice and lying to me about it was wrong, but… she's shutting me out. And I feel like maybe if I hadn't been so hard on her about that, if I hadn't been so mad, maybe things would be easier for us. Maybe she'd have an easier time leaning on me, or…?"

"Cooper… No. She was wrong, you were right, and her being pregnant when she was… that's just bad timing. But your reaction to everything has been good. You've been supportive, you've been there for her. I know you, and I know you've offered your help if she needs it. But it's up to her to admit that she needs it, and Charlotte's not exactly the type to lean."

"But she's pregnant. With my kid, and…" he sighs, and lets his back sink into the cushions behind him. "This just isn't how I imagined it would be when I had my first child. I thought it'd be happy, and joyous, and the best thing ever. And in some ways it is, y'know, but most of the time… We're so damaged, Vi."

"Yeah," she agrees, with just a little less sensitivity than he'd like. "You really are."

"I want to trust her," he tells her, and he means it, he really does, but then he admits, "But I don't. She hasn't exactly made it easy to do that, y'know? I'm always worried that another bomb is going to drop. I'm worried something's going to go wrong with the baby — and I'm worried that if it does, she might not tell me. Not right away, anyway. She promised she would, but she's Charlotte, she lies, and… I keep thinking it'd be okay if I could just be a part of this with her — really be a part of it. But she won't let me. She keeps me at arm's length — she bitched at me yesterday for talking to Pete about her. He's her doctor! Of course I'm going to tell him how she's feeling, but no, no, it's hovering, it's looking over her shoulder, it's…"

"She knows you don't trust her," Violet surmises, and well, duh.

"Well, I've made that pretty clear to her."

"And you don't think that might be a contributing factor to the problems that you're having? Knowing that you don't trust her."

"Well… I mean, c'mon, Vi, she can't expect me to trust her after the things she's done."

That sounds pretty reasonable to him — he has some good, strong reasons for the ways he feels about Charlotte. Violet can't honestly be flipping sides here and thinking he's wrong in this?

"No, she can't — I'm not saying you haven't earned that lack of trust; you have — but knowing that lack of trust is there… It puts strain on your relationship, and it… puts her in your debt?" She screws up her face a little, like that's not quite what she means, like she doesn't quite believe it. "It leaves her in a position of having to prove herself worthy of your trust — which she should, mind you, I'm not saying she shouldn't be in that place — but sometimes being in that place… it can be hard to navigate, and hard to just _exist_ in. There's a lot of pressure to find the right way to build that back up, and there's no real roadmap or timeline for something like that."

"Okay, but if she wants me to trust her, if she has to earn that back, shouldn't she be trying to be totally open? Telling me everything, sharing everything with me? I mean, wouldn't that make sense?"

"Well, sure, to a normal, well-adjusted person, maybe. But that's not what Charlotte is. She's stunted. She has huge, emotional roadblocks. I don't know that she's capable of total, open honesty — even when it would benefit her."

Maybe it's naive, maybe it's stupid, but Cooper thinks she's wrong. She doesn't know Charlotte like he does, she doesn't see her the same way he has. Cooper shakes his head and says, "No. Uh-uh. You're wrong. She is, she has it in her, I know she does. I just have to get us to that place."

"Cooper… You can't be solely responsible for the emotional growth of your relationship — that's a two-way street. And until Charlotte learns to communicate, until she decides she wants to be a _partner_… You're going to stay damaged. You're not going to grow. And I know you want to help her, but… I don't know if she knows how to accept what you're offering, even if she wants it. Which she may not. Taking care of things on her own, relying on herself and only herself… They're defense mechanisms, they're how she protects herself. And that's not something she's going to let go of easily."

"Y'know what? That's fine. She can have them. With everybody else, she can have them. But I can't be on the outside of this. So how do I get past the defense mechanisms? I want to know everything that's happening with her and this baby, because I love her, I love _them_," he tells her, pressing his hand over his heart, remembering a second too last that his fingers are greasy and cheesy. "Vi, you don't even know how in love I am with this kid, and it's not even here yet. All I've seen of it is a blob, a little blobby blob on an ultrasound, and I love it. And she's starting to show, and every time I see her, I see that, I look for it. She may be trying to hide it, but I see it, and…" He sighs, tosses the carton of fries back to the coffee table and rakes a hand through his hair. "This is the most important thing I've ever done. And I want to do it right. And right now, I don't really know how to do that with her."

"So… talk to her about it?" Violet suggests, and Cooper gives her his best disbelieving look.

"This is Charlotte we're talking about," he reminds. "She's not really a talker."

"Okay, then, God…" She searches for a second, then shakes her head, throwing her hands up and telling him, "Knock up someone who isn't such a disaster, I don't know."

"Not helpful," he mutters, reaching for his shake again and sucking down the last of it. Violet's picking at her own fries now, frowning.

Finally, she tells him, "Keep doing what you're doing. You said before — before the whole practice thing — that she was starting to open up a little. So… keep doing what you're doing. Keep offering, even if she turns you down. Keep letting her know that you want to be a part of things. Be there for her. Eventually, y'know, maybe she'll learn to trust that, and things will get easier."

"So, that's it? Just… keep calm and carry on?"

"Basically," Violet shrugs. "And, y'know, ask for what you want. If you want more information, ask for it. If you want to comfort her when she's upset, ask for it. But be prepared for her to tell you no."

Cooper nods his head lightly, fiddles a little with his straw and then tosses the empty cup back to the coffee table.

"This sucks, Vi," he tells her, and she reaches over, and runs a hand through his hair, smiling sympathetically.

"I know. But in the meantime, when she's like this… You can always come here."

Cooper smiles at that. She's right, and he's glad for it. Whatever else is going on, whatever drama he's having with Charlotte, at least he can always come here, stuff his face with food, and hang with his best friend.

"Okay. Alright. Let's see what kind of trashy awesomeness we can find on TV."

He reaches for the remote, hands it to Violet, and then grabs his phone. He shoots a quick text to Charlotte, asking if she's okay, if she's sure she doesn't want him to stop by later, and if he checks his phone a little too often during Iron Chef, well… that's just him keepin' on keepin' on. Doing what he's been doing. Caring. He tells himself it's okay if she doesn't respond, reminds himself that she needs her space to grieve, but he's still relieved when his phone buzzes an hour and a half later.

It's four only words — _I'm fine. Don't come_. — But at least it's something.

He'll check on her in the morning, he decides. First thing.


	29. Chapter 29

"So," Charlotte tells him on Thursday morning, in lieu of an actual hello. "All day Tuesday, I felt great. Amazing, even. And I screwed Cooper's brains out-" There's an image he doesn't need, "So when I say amazing, I mean it. And then Wednesday morning rolled around, and I was pukin' my guts up all over the place again. What gives?"

"I told you the effects might wear off," Pete reminds, dropping his bag and pointing her toward the massage table again.

"Well, wear 'em back on. I'm sick of this."

She slides gingerly onto the table, and he can tell she's not feeling her best by the way she's moving. Sluggish. Tentative. She usually has a lot more snap to her.

"It'll pass soon," he reminds her. "You're, what? Twelve weeks now?"

"Just about. And yes, I know, it's supposed to pass by week thirteen, but…" She looks suddenly crestfallen, and exhausted, and her voice has a surprising amount of vulnerability when she says, "I don't want to feel this way anymore, Pete."

"Lie down," he urges her gently. "We'll do the acupuncture again, and hopefully get you a vomit-free day."

"One can only hope," she mutters, doing as she's told. Then, she frowns at him, "You didn't check my blood pressure."

"I checked it Tuesday," he tells her. "I don't think you need it checked twice a week. Do you?"

"No," she says, making a face. "I just figured since you were all insistent last time…"

"Are you gonna be grumpy all morning?" he questions. "Because it's not really how I want to start my day."

She glowers at him, then shuts her eyes and mutters, "Sorry. I'm just… frustrated."

"And I'm just trying to help," Pete reminds, adjusting her arms and then her legs, then grabbing the acupuncture needles.

"I wore a dress today; I'm trustin' you not to peek at my goods."

She has that same tone she always does, but when he looks at her, she's smiling a little, so he thinks she might actually be teasing. Making an effort. So he makes one, too, smiling back (even though she can't see him), and saying, "I'll try to restrain myself."

He's about to insert the first needle when she tenses suddenly, just enough to be noticeable, and says, "Don't tell me before you put the needles in, okay? Distract me again."

"I will," he promises, hovering a few inches above her skin. "Now relax. Tell me about your practice." Not that he really cares how things are going downstairs, but it's the first thing he thinks of.

"Why the hell would you want to hear about that?" she asks, and Pete rolls his eyes. Then he sticks her carefully with a needle.

"Because it's something to talk about," he tells her. "Why? You have something you'd rather discuss?"

"No. No, not really."

"So?" he prompts, moving to the next point.

"We're doin' fine. Just hired a new doctor. Could use another, and a few more nurses, and mandatory nap time for the boss. But otherwise... good."

"Still tired?"

"I'm always tired," she reminds. "I'd think you of all people would remember I don't sleep all that well."

"Oh, believe me, I remember. If you're still having trouble, I can prescribe some natural remedies that might help, and that'll be safe for the baby."

"I'm alright," she says, and he catches her opening her eyes, then squeezing them shut quickly again so she can't see what he's doing. "For once, fallin' asleep hasn't been hard. It's stayin' awake that's killin' me."

"I'm done," he tells her, and she opens them again, looking straight at him, and not the needles.

"Oh. Good. Twenty minutes?"

"Forty today," Pete tells her. "You were in a hurry last time, and I want you to reap the full benefits of the treatment today. Should help it last longer."

"Whatever works," she agrees. "But no more than forty — I need to be at my desk downstairs by nine."

"I'll get you out of here in plenty of time," he promises. "Why don't you close your eyes again, try to get a little rest?"

"I just woke up," she points out, but he doesn't buy it. Whether or not her sleep was recent, it wasn't quite restful enough. Her eyes are a little shadowed and puffy today, her color a little pale. It's barely 8am, and already she's looking ready for some shut-eye.

"Falling asleep hasn't been hard," he parrots, drawing his thumb and forefinger down her forehead, over her eyelids to urge them shut. "If you can't sleep, rest. It's good for you."

He can feel her eyes roll under the light weight of his fingertips, and smirks. Of course she's rolling her eyes at him. But she blows out a breath, and shifts a little to settle more fully into the cushion beneath her. "Fine."

"Good. Now shush."

He lifts his hand, and returns to his desk, once again using the quiet time to catch up on work. It's not long before he hears the first soft snore from her, and smirks. "I just woke up," he mutters mockingly under his breath.

Its just the two of them until Dell shows up about thirty minutes into her treatment, making his usual rounds. And, surprisingly, Cooper shows up around minute thirty-five. He peers in through the blinds, and Pete holds a finger up to signal him to be quiet, then waves him in.

"Hey," Cooper whispers softly, before pointing toward the shelves separating his desk from the table. "Is she?"

"Asleep," Pete confirms quietly. "You can go ahead and peek at her. Just don't blame me if she catches you and complains."

Cooper smirks and ducks around the shelves, reappearing a few minutes later. "How's she doing?"

"Fine." He remembers agreeing not to talk about her quite so much with Cooper, so he tries to respect that and keep his answers to a vague minimum.

"She got pretty sick yesterday," he says, and Pete nods.

"Yeah, I heard."

"I didn't really get to see her after work; I was with Violet, and Charlotte was... not in the mood for company. I figured I could catch her before she left, see how she's feeling…"

"That's why you're here early," Pete surmises, still keeping his voice low, and checking his watch. Two more minutes. "I'll send her by when we're done." He leans back a little in his chair, and Cooper frowns down at him.

"You're in cahoots, aren't you?" he accuses in a whisper.

"Cahoots?" Pete questions, raising his brow. Are they ninety?

"Yes. Cahoots. You and Charlotte. She told you not to talk to me, didn't she?"

Pete smirks and nods. "She did, and she's my patient, so I'm going to respect that. I'll have her stop by," he says again. "But I need to wake her up in a minute, so you need to leave."

"Oh, come on, Pete," Cooper whines, and Pete hears Charlotte inhale and exhale heavily on the other side of the shelves. They're waking her up.

"No," Pete insists, standing, and pushing Cooper toward the door. "Out."

Cooper grumbles, but obeys, and by the time Pete rounds the shelves, Charlotte's starting to stir. Her eyes flutter open and squint at him, and she frowns deeply. "Pete?" her voice is raspy with sleep.

"Yeah. Lie still; let me take the needles out."

"Mmhmm," she breathes, her eyes dropping shut again.

"Don't fade on me," he urges, plucking the needles carefully from her skin.

"Did I hear Cooper?" she asks, her words slurring together a little.

"He poked his head in," Pete says.

"What the hell was he doin' here so early?" she asks, opening her eyes and sitting up. She rolls her shoulders, moving her head from side to side.

"Checking on you," Pete tells her, honestly, setting the needles aside, and motioning for her to turn around. "I made him leave."

She smirks at that, shifting so her back is toward him. "Yeah?"

Pete settles his hands on her shoulders, and kneads the muscles there slowly. "Mmhmm. But I told him I'd have you stop by."

"Oh…" Her voice has gone all breathy, and he can't help grinning. Apparently the massage is working. "If I'm gonna do that, you, uh… you have to stop this. And this feels really good."

"Give me some extra time next week, and we'll work in a massage, if you want."

"God, yes," she agrees.

"How do you feel otherwise? Better?"

"Yeah… It'd better last this time."

"It will," he assures. "But that doesn't mean you should go crazy. Stay mindful of your eating, make sure you're well hydrated—"

"Yeah, yeah… Shut up and keep rubbin'. I've got about thirty seconds to spare here..."

Pete laughs a little, but indulges her. He stops asking questions and keeps up the massage for another minute or so, then flattens his palms against her shoulders and rubs lightly for a second before letting his hands fall away.

"You'd better get going or you'll be late for work."

Charlotte lets loose a little sigh, rolling her neck gingerly again, and telling him, "Thanks. I'll let you know about that massage."

"Email me your schedule; we'll find some time."

"Will do," she says, scooting off the table and straightening her dress. She grabs her purse and he walks her to his office door, but really he just wants to see if she heads for Cooper or the elevator. Sure enough she heads for Cooper's office, and the place is still quiet enough for her irritated, "You checkin' up on me?" to carry back to Pete's ears before she steps inside.

He chuckles a little and heads for the kitchen. Man, is he glad he's not the one who has to date her. Two hours a week is plenty of Charlotte King for him.


	30. Chapter 30

"How do doctors ever manage to have babies?" Charlotte asks Cooper, seemingly out of nowhere. They're on his couch, watching a movie — or at least, he's watching it, but it sounds like Charlotte's head is somewhere else completely.

"What?" He turns to look at her, pausing the movie and adjusting her feet in his lap.

"Sorry. Never mind. Start the movie again."

She's dismissing it, but he's pretty sure that statement didn't come out of nowhere, so he sets the remote aside and urges, "No, c'mon, what's up?"

"It's nothin'," she insists. "I was just thinkin' about work. About that girl from your practice — the baby with the hernia, and the adoptive parents who don't want him…"

"Judy?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, that's a messy situation," he agrees, although he doesn't know all the details, just what he heard around the practice today. Diaphragmatic hernia. Birth mom doesn't want to make the call, adoptive parents are too scared to take on a sick kid. It's horrible all around, but, "What does it have to do with us?"

"Not us, per se…" Charlotte reasons, her hand moving to her belly and settling over her little bump. "I just… I see things like that, babies like that, and… I worry. About ours. About all the things that could go wrong. I mean, I see babies every day that are sick, or have birth defects, or abnormalities that risk their lives, and… how do we do it? I mean, how does any doctor make the conscious decision to bring a child into this world, knowin' how badly it could turn out?"

Ah. That's where she's coming from. Cooper runs his hand over her calf soothingly, ankle to knee, and back to her toes. "Because children are a blessing," he reasons, and Charlotte sneers a little.

"You sound like a friggin' Hallmark card," she mutters, turning her face back toward the TV, even though there's nothing to see but a still frame.

Cooper chuckles a little, and runs his thumb firmly over her arch. She stiffens a little, then relaxes, and he does it again. Her eyes flutter shut, and stay that way.

"We have them because… we're human. And we want families, we want that love, that… wholeness. We want to be parents. And besides, we may see all the unhealthy babies, but we also get to see all the healthy ones. All the perfect little newborns in the nursery, waiting to go home to their families. Most of the births we see, they're good."

"Maybe most of the ones you see," she responds, settling a little deeper into his couch cushions while he keeps up the slow, kneading massage against her foot. "But I'm Chief of Staff; I don't work in peds. Unless somethin' goes wrong, and they need me."

"Well, then maybe you should stop by more often," he reasons. "Go peek in on the newborns."

She opens her eyes and makes a face at him. "I'd really rather not. I've got better things to do with my time than poke my head in on a bunch of screamin' babies."

"Are you even a little bit excited about this?" He didn't mean to ask her that, but it was on his tongue and past his lips before he could help it.

He's not surprised when she tugs her foot back, both of them, drawing her knees up until she can plant her feet on the cushion between them and scowl at him. She takes a breath, and he thinks she's about to say something, but she just lets the air out again, and shakes her head. She looks at the TV, crosses her arms defensively across her torso, and shrugs. He lets her gather her thoughts for a minute, until finally she says, "I'm glad it got us back together. I'm not sure how I feel about the whole actually havin' a baby thing."

"Well, we should maybe talk about that, because it's, uh… it's coming."

Her gaze whips back to him again. "You think I don't know that? Look at me."

He can't help smirking at that. It's not as though she's great with child or anything. She has a delightful little curve to her belly, but that's it, and she's managed to hide it well for days now. He wonders what she sees when she looks in the mirror if she thinks looking at her makes it obvious there's a baby barreling quickly toward their lives.

"You look amazing," he tells her, quietly, and that's about all she can take apparently, because she's rolling her eyes and scoffing at him now, scooting up until she's sitting properly and moving to stand. Cooper grabs her by the arm, and draws her back toward him. She goes stiff, resisting as he pulls her in close. "You _do_," he insists. "You've always looked amazing. And if you think being pregnant makes you any less attractive, you're wrong. You're stunning."

He feels her bicep relax a little under his grip, and she eyes him sideways, still frowning. "That's not really my top concern at the moment," she says, and can she really never just take a compliment? "I've had other things on my mind the last few weeks."

There's something in the way she says it — something soft and pained — and it reminds him of the way she looked two nights ago, wrecked with grief. The realization smacks into him with enough force he actually takes in a breath: she's in too much pain to be excited about this new life they're bringing into the world. She's still clinging to the one she just had to let go. He doesn't know what to say to her — doesn't know what she'd let him say to her — so he just leans in and closes the few inches between them, pressing a kiss to her temple.

She rolls her head away from him, and murmurs something about having to pee.

"Okay," tells her quietly, releasing her arm, and watching as she pushes to her feet and heads for his bathroom. It was a tactical retreat, he knows. Meant as much to get her out of a moment she didn't want to be in as to relieve the pressure in her bladder.

And he doesn't know whether he should push this with her or not — he wants to be there for her, but he hears Violet in his head, urging him to give her the space she needs to process everything. Still, the whole thing reminds him that there's something he needs to give her, and gets up to grab it, passing the envelope from hand to hand while he waits for her.

She reappears a minute later, offering him a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes, then eyeing him suspiciously. "Why are you standin'?"

"I was getting this," he tells her, holding out the envelope. Charlotte glances at it.

"What is it?"

"It's a card, from my parents. Probably a sympathy card; I told them about your dad."

Charlotte takes it from him warily, like he's handing her a live grenade. She swallows hard and looks at it, making no move to open it. "Oh."

"Y'know…" he begins carefully. "You can talk to me about how you're feeling..."

"I don't want to talk about this," she bites, looking at him like he's an idiot. "Ever."

It's pretty much the reaction he expected from her, but it's still frustrating. She tosses the envelope onto the table, and curls herself into the corner between the back and arm of the sofa.

"Turn the movie back on."

She's shutting down, and it pains him to watch. To see her in so much pain, and not letting him do anything about it. Again.

"Char…"

"Cooper," she says, firmly. "Turn. The movie. Back on."

He's lost. He pushed. He should've saved the card for another day, he thinks to himself. He shouldn't have given it to her when he knew she was already feeling raw. So he gives her the reprieve she wants, turning the movie back on and relaxing into the couch cushions.

Twenty minutes later, she speaks up again, saying, "It's gettin' late. I should go."

Cooper's stomach sinks, and he glances at the clock. "It's not even ten o'clock yet. And we haven't finished the movie."

"I'm gettin' tired, and I have to drive home."

"I kinda assumed you were staying here tonight," he says, tentatively.

"I have to be at the hospital tomorrow mornin'," she tells him, standing and straightening her dress. "Don't have anythin' to wear here."

"You live like five minutes from the hospital," he points out. "Stop in the morning to change, like you always do."

She takes a deep breath, shaking her head subtly and slipping her feet back into her shoes. "Cooper, I don't feel good. I want to go home."

"I'll go with you," he offers, then. Standing, too. "We can stay-"

"_No_, Cooper." She's picked up her purse, but she plunks it back onto to the coffee table with a thud. "God, I just wanna be alone, alright? Is that a crime?"

"And I just want to be there for you. Is _that_ a crime?" Cooper challenges. Charlotte doesn't answer, just looks hard at him, mouth drawn tight. He tries again, "Come on, stay with me."

"If I stay here…" she trails off, shaking her head and looking off toward the kitchen.

"What? What'll happen?"

She sucks in a breath, works her jaw for a second, lets it out, and sounds a little bit desperate when she says, "I just want to go home, go to bed, and not think."

"Stay here and don't think," he tells her. "We'll go to bed, right now."

"I can't."

"Why not?" he asks, reaching for her, not the least bit surprised when she takes a step back. He asks her again, softly, "Why not?"

"Because you keep lookin' at me like that!" she half-hollers, finally really losing her cool. "Like I'm some poor, grieving, damaged girl. And I hate it. And the room just fills up with it, and I can't…" She clenches her hands, releases them, tension rolling off her in waves. "Breathe. I can't breathe here right now; I need to go home. By myself."

"You don't have to be alone in this…" he tries again, one last time, but he knows he's lost. He can't ever win against her stupid, stubborn will.

Sure enough, she says, "I'm goin', Cooper." She scoops up her purse again, tucking it over her shoulder, and saying, "Goodbye," before turning for the door.

He wants to call her back again, but it'd be useless. She's walled in tight and there's no way in hell she's going to let him breach her fortress. She shuts the door hard behind her, and Cooper slumps back onto the couch.

His eyes fall on the empty spot on the coffee table where the card from his parents used to be, and it's only then that he realizes she was shoving it into her purse as she picked it up.

She took it with her.

It's not much, but it's something.

**.:.**

By the time Charlotte gets home, she feels like she's breathing mud. Every inhale is heavy effort, the weight of loss and grief pressing down hard on her. It's like there's too much gravity in the world all of a sudden, like she's being pulled down by the very act of living. Her keys feel heavy in her fingers as she unlocks the door; the purse on her shoulder weighs a ton.

It gets just a little lighter when she pulls the pale blue envelope out of it. She takes a deep breath and looks hard at the looping letters across the front. Her name, care of Cooper. His address. Up in the corner, a neat little return address label. Judy and Russell Freedman.

Her heart squeezes tight, her eyes burning with tears, a sudden fierce jealousy rearing up in her. Her hands grip either side of the envelope, and she pulls, tearing it, card and all, with one clean yank and a pained grunt.

He has no idea how she feels. Not with his perfect damned two-parent family. How the hell is she supposed to lean on him when he's handing her somethin' like this?

And then she looks at it again, and feels a twinge of regret. The parents of the man she loves — the future grandparents of her child — sent her a card. A gesture. They made an effort.

But she's not in any shape for this right now, so she walks to her desk and lifts the lid of her flowery card box with shaking fingers, then stashes the two torn pieces inside. They land on top of a stack of unopened envelopes, all filled with notes of sympathy she can't bring herself to read.

When she places the lid back on, she promises herself she won't think about this anymore tonight.

It's a promise she knows she can't keep.


	31. Chapter 31

**_Author's Note: _**_This chapter contains some dialogue that was lifted directly from the show. I take no credit for such dialogue - all credit for any lines featured on the show goes to ABC/Disney/Shonda Rhimes. It's their world, I just like to play in it._

* * *

><p>Cooper doesn't hear from Charlotte at all on Saturday, so by late afternoon, he's off to seek counsel from his best friend. When he walks into her office, he almost thinks she's not there, but then he sees the open closet door, and her legs sticking out of it.<p>

Okay, that's new behavior from Violet…

"You're in the closet," he notes, quizzically.

"I'm seeing if it's any less scary in here."

It's what her patient did, he remembers. There's some scary stuff going on in his life right now, too, so Cooper decides to give it a try himself. He opens the door, and pulls her gym bag and tennis racket out of the space next to her, then settles in to her left. He takes stock for a second, then announces, "I like it."

"Me too," Violet agrees, and they sit there for a minute, enjoying the safety of the closet.

Eventually, Cooper speaks up, saying, "So Charlotte walked out on me last night."

"Oh, Cooper," Violet sighs, and he can tell by the tone of her voice that she thinks this whole run around is silly. "What happened now?"

"My parents sent her a sympathy card," he says, letting his head drop back against the wall. "I gave it to her, and she just… shut down. She insisted on going back to her place, by herself, didn't want me to help her, didn't want to talk about how she's feeling… And now she's not answering my texts. So can you tell me what I did wrong this time?"

"You reminded her of her pain," Violet tells him gently.

"I want to _help _with her pain. It kills me to see her like this. And she can't enjoy the baby. She's too miserable. We're having a baby, and that's supposed to be a happy thing, right? Babies are happy things," Violet starts snickering, but he tries to ignore it, continuing, "Especially now that we're back together, and — Why are you laughing?"

She's gone from a snicker to a full-on giggle fit, and while it's slightly infectious, it's also kind of offensive.

"Nothing," she chuckles. "I'm not. I'm sorry. It'll pass. Keep talking."

But it doesn't pass, she keeps laughing, harder now.

"Look, I know you don't like her, but can you maybe not find it so funny that I want to be happy about our baby?"

She lets out another peal of laughter, barely managing to get out the words, "I don't — It's not that — it's just — I'm pregnant."

Cooper blinks, stunned, then blurts, "You're pregnant?"

He's certain he must have heard her wrong, there's no way she can be pregnant, but the laughter is starting to border on hysterical as she nods and says, "And I don't know who the father is."

Oh, that's… well, that explains the hysteria. Still, she's his best friend, he really oughta snap her out of this. "Okay, should I slap you, like in a movie?" he offers.

"Cooper, we are two of the most emotionally stunted people I've ever known. We've never made any progress in our personal lives — we don't do personal growth. And now Charlotte's pregnant, and I'm pregnant, and we're just growin' all over the place!"

She's still laughing, and he knows this isn't healthy. "Okay, okay," he urges, settles his hands on her shoulders, then her face gently, then shushing to sooth her. "Okay, breathe… Just breathe. Breathe, breathe, breathe," he coaxes. "Let it out."

They breathe in together, Violet's inhale shaky and stuttered, and then in unison they let out a slow exhale. It does the trick, settling her, quelling the laughter.

"Okay, there you go. Okay."

Another breath in and out, and she looks at him, asking, "You wanna talk about me first or you first?"

"You, definitely you," he tells her, because his news is sort of old news, and hers is big and fresh. He grins, and marvels softly, "A baby? What're you going to do?"

Violet shakes her head, telling him, "I don't know. Just stay in the closet a little longer?"

"Okay," Cooper agrees, reaching for her hand and linking their fingers, their shoulders settling snugly against each other in the small space.

And then he's the one chuckling, shaking his head and saying, "I can't believe we're having kids at the same time — I mean, if you decide to have the kid. Which is your decision, and I respect that, but c'mon, how cool would it be? They'll only be months apart, they can play together, and grow up with each other, and… it'll just be great."

Violet nods a little, and he can tell she's unsure whether this is something she wants to go all gung-ho with yet, but she cracks a smile, lets it slide into something a little bit wry and says, "You really think Charlotte wants her kid to play with mine?"

"Hey," Cooper argues. "I don't care what she wants. It's my kid, too, and if you're having a baby, they are so going to be best friends from the cradle."

She lets out a little snort of amusement next to him, shaking her head a little. And then she turns the attention to his problems, telling him, "You need to give her time. Just be there for her, and when she's ready… she'll talk."

"What if she's never ready to talk about it?"

"Then, you have to respect that. It's her grief, and as long as she's not being self-destructive, or hurting other people… you need to respect her process. Even if it doesn't include you."

Her hand shifts a little in his, their fingers knitting together more tightly.

"I just don't know how much longer I can stand here and not do anything. I love her; I hate seeing her like this."

Violet shrugs. "You can't fix everything for her, Coop. You can't bring him back. She just needs time."

Cooper lets out a heavy sigh, his head falling back and bumping against the wall of the closet again. "Yeah," he sighs. "I guess."

And then his phone rings, the chime and vibration startling both of them. Cooper twists and reaches into the pocket between them, pulling the phone out and smirking at the caller ID. _Charlotte King_.

"Someone's ears were burning," he mutters, pressing talk and giving her a pleasant, if slightly tentative, "Hey."

She doesn't bother with a hello, just starts in with, "I don't want to talk about anything. I was in a mood, and I'm over it."

"Okay…" Let her have her time, he tells himself. Respect her process…

"But I do want you naked and underneath me, so if you're free…" she trails off suggestively, and Cooper's heart does a little stutter. If that's respecting her process, he can totally do that.

Cooper glances at Violet. Maybe he should stay with her. This whole baby thing is big. But then there's Charlotte, and Charlotte _naked_ and in the mood, and… He covers the bottom of his phone with his hand, and says, "Charlotte wants me to come over. Do you mind if I…?"

Violet shakes her head, and waves a hand at him. He can tell that she minds _a little_, but not so much that she's putting up a fight. "Go. Be with her."

"Is this a decision you need to wrestle with?" Charlotte's voice comes over the line, clearly irritated by the delay.

He pulls his hand away and assures her, "No, no… I was just saying goodbye to Violet. I'll be right there."

She sounds much more satisfied when she tells him, "Good. I'll be waiting. Naked. Don't dawdle."

And then the line goes dead, and he's scooting out of the closet and pushing himself to his feet. "Sorry about this," he tells her, and he is, sort of, but he's also sort of not. Because Charlotte is fifteen minutes away, and apparently naked or nearly so, and, well… Violet's not going to be any less pregnant tomorrow. "I'll come over tomorrow afternoon, and we can talk some more?"

"There's not much more to talk about," Violet sighs, taking his hand and letting him pull her to her feet. "It is what it is."

Cooper squeezes both her hands once she's on her feet again, and then he grins, he can't help it, before marveling again, "A baby — two babies! Both of us, at the same time. Who'd have ever thought?"

"Yeah, it's… weird," she says, and he'd have gone for _totally cool_ or something like that, but he's not the one carrying either of these babies, so he'll let her slide with weird. Because it probably is, carrying a little person inside of you. "But let's keep this between us, okay? Don't say anything to Pete, or Sheldon-"

"No, of course not."

"Or Charlotte."

Cooper chuckles a little. "Please. Like Charlotte would even care."

"I mean it, Cooper," Violet insists. "Until I have a little more time to get used to this—"

"My lips are sealed," he assures, holding up his hand and offering, "Pinky swear?"

Violet laughs, shaking her head, but she links her pinky with his and shakes. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." He leans in and presses a kiss to her forehead, then tells her, "Bye," and heads for the door.

His mind is already racing with thoughts of Charlotte.


	32. Chapter 32

It turns out Pete and Charlotte are so booked for the next week that they decide the better option for her massage is a house call, so Pete puts her address into his GPS on Sunday evening, and follows the directions to her place. He's somehow unsurprised that she works within ten minutes of the hospital - and now he gets why she's always early for their morning sessions.

Truth be told, he's not thrilled to be here, not after the emotional toll of the last few days. But she offered to pay him twice his normal rate, in cash, if he'd do this during weekend off-hours, and who is he to turn that down? He's just not sure he can put up with her usual level of snark and attitude tonight. Not after spending yesterday ending a man's life.

He knocks, and she answers the door almost immediately, dressed in sweats slung low to accommodate her bump, and a thin tank top. She has a bag of pretzels in one hand, and a smile on her face. Thank God. At least he's not starting off with an ornery Charlotte.

"Hey," she greets, stepping back and letting him inside. "Thanks for coming by like this."

"No problem," he tells her, then smirks and reminds her, "You're paying for it."

"Yes, I am," she agrees. "And gladly so."

"You're in a good mood," Pete notes, and Charlotte rattles the bag in her hands, heading for her living room. He follows, adjusting the bag over his shoulder, and taking in her decor. He'd never put much thought into what Charlotte's place would look like and he can't decide if this is what he would've imagined for her. The walls are pale and calm, the furniture white. It's very clean - literally and figuratively. It's feminine, a little beachy, and immaculate. The only surfaces that aren't magazine-ready are her desk (there's a haphazard stack of papers next to her laptop), and the coffee table (a can of ginger ale, a book splayed open, spine up, and a box of tissues).

Charlotte goes for the ginger ale, sipping it before telling him, "I discovered pretzels. Pretzels are amazing. I don't know how I didn't think of them before. They're bland enough not to upset my stomach, but they have enough flavor that they aren't boring, and I have been eatin' them by the damned handful all afternoon. Only downside is they make me thirsty as hell, so I'm peein' every two minutes."

Pete chuckles. "Pretzels are a good thing," he agrees, before warning, "Careful with the salt, though."

She pauses with a pretzel halfway to her mouth and makes a face at him. "Don't kill my joy here, Pete. A couple days of pretzel bingeing won't kill my blood pressure."

And in goes the pretzel. She crunches it cheerfully and he can almost see the pleasure something as simple as a bag of pretzels is giving her. And she's right, a few days of it won't kill her. So he goes with it, and asks, "How's your appetite been otherwise?"

She swallows hard, then grabs the ginger ale again and sips before answering, "Good. I've been great since Thursday, actually. Little queasy this mornin', but nothin' unmanageable." Then, she startles a little, and says, "I'm sorry, I'm sittin' here stuffin' my face and never offered you anything. You want water, ginger ale, juice...? You can't have any pretzels."

He laughs outright at that, at how she holds the bag a little closer, the glint in her eyes letting him know she's teasing. Who knew she was capable? "I wouldn't dream of pilfering something so precious," he assures. "But I could go for a water."

She nods resolutely, and breezes past him, asking, "Bottle or tap?"

He follows her into the kitchen, answering, "Bottle if you have it."

"Cold or room temp?"

"Seriously? You're just the perfect little hostess, aren't you? Cold."

She pulls open the fridge, her back to him as she says, "I'm Southern, Pete. We're taught manners from the womb." The bottle comes flying his way almost as soon as she turns around, and if it weren't for quick reflexes, he might not have caught it. He cranks it open, takes a sip. "So where are we doin' this? The bedroom?"

"I have my portable table in the car, but I figured I'd see what you wanted before I hauled it up. I can do the bed if you want - it might actually be more comfortable for you. You can't lay on that belly anymore."

Her hand goes to it, a little self-consciously, and she mutters, "Can't dress it either," before blowing out a breath and saying, "Bed's fine." Her face screws up a little and she adds, "After I use the ladies' room. But it's across the hall from the bedroom, so, follow me, I guess."

She's walking a little faster now, he notices, amused. Nothing like the call of nature to put a little spring in your step. He decides not to mock her for it, though - he wants to milk this good mood she's in for as long as he can. She points him toward the bedroom, then shuts herself in the bathroom, and Pete sets his bag down on her dresser and starts to prep the room. He sets two bottles on her night-table, one an unscented lotion, the other a lavender oil, then turns on the bedside lamps, and kills the overhead so the light is lower, more relaxing. He hears the toilet flush, and the soft rush of the tap, so he figures it's safe to call, "Hey, Charlotte?"

"Yeah?" she hollers back through the door, opening it a second later, one hand still gripping her hand towel.

"Your sheets or mine?" he asks, as she finishes drying and rehangs the towel.

"Mine," she says, then frowns. "Are you gonna get me all oily, 'cause those are satin; I should change 'em."

"That depends on how you take to lavender," he tells her.

"Love it," she tells him, taking a few steps and then opening a door in the hallway to reveal her linen closet.

"Still?" he asks, and she pauses mid-reach, then stretches her arm up and tugs down a set of dove gray sheets.

"That I don't know," she admits, tucking the sheets under her arm and finally joining him in the bedroom. "But it'll only take a second to change 'em, and... they're due."

He really doesn't want her to elaborate on that, so he reaches for the pillows, piling them on the floor next to the bed while she tugs the quilt away. She tosses two new pillowcases at him, and he switches them for the two pillows without shams while she strips the white satin from the bed, bunching up the sheets and stashing them in her closet where she can shut the door on them. They remake the bed, leaving the top sheet untucked, and Pete tosses the two pillows he changed back onto it - the rest will just get in the way.

Then, he hands her the oil. "Take a whiff, see how you feel."

She pops the cap and gives it a little squeeze, inhaling carefully. She's still for a second, gauging her tolerance, and then she shrugs and smiles, tossing it back. "I'm good. Do you need me naked?"

"I need you however you're comfortable," he tells her. "On your side, with a pillow under your head, and one between your knees. It'll help keep your spine straight."

"Alright." She looks at him for a second, then unceremoniously tugs her tank top over her head, and gives her sweats a little push so they puddle around her feet. Pete makes a point to keep his eyes on her face, and not at all on the cleavage that's staring him down. "Where do you want me?"

Not a good question to ask while she's in her underwear, he thinks, shoving the thought out of his head and pointing to the bed. "We'll start you toward the edge, facing away; you might have to move to do the other side."

Charlotte rounds the bed and climbs in, and he can't help it, he sneaks a peek, letting his gaze slide from her shoulders, down the line of her back, the curve of her ass. He really shouldn't be looking at this. It's not that she's wearing anything racy - red cotton with little polka dots on both the bottom and top - but, well, she's an attractive woman. A very, very attractive woman… And he's pretty sure if she didn't want him to look, she'd have asked him to avert his eyes. If he has any doubt, she relieves it by glancing over her shoulder, catching him looking, and smirking.

"Stop flirting," he says lightly, and she shifts, adjusting her pillows. "You're dating my friend."

"Just seein' if I've still got it," she dismisses, settling in.

Pete adjusts the top sheet until it's draped over her hips, covering her from navel to knees. It helps a little with the roving eyes. "You've still got it," he confirms. "But flaunting it to people who can't have it is mean."

Charlotte snickers a little, rolling her shoulders, and Pete gathers her hair off her neck and fans it over the pillow behind her to give himself better access. "Anything in particular bothering you?" he asks her.

"My shoulders have been killin' me," she admits. "And I have this tight spot..." She twists a little, points at a spot near her spine. "Here. Keeps twingeing when I move wrong."

"Okay. We'll take care of those," he tells her, squeezing a little bit of oil into his hand. "Straighten out." She does, wiggling a little bit to get comfortable again, then letting out a breath and shutting her eyes. Pete starts with her neck, working it steadily until her breathing is deep and even, relaxed. "Tell me if anything hurts," he murmurs.

"Mm. It's perfect."

But a few minutes later, he rolls his thumb up onto her shoulder and hits a wall of muscle. She jumps a little, and he's not surprised. "God, your shoulder's a rock."

"Told you," she mutters, sounding considerably less relaxed as he works the muscle slowly, but firmly.

"I can take care of this for you, but it's not really going to be relaxing."

"I'm not payin' you to relax me, I'm payin' you to make the pain go away," she retorts, wincing a little as he finds a thickly corded knot.

"Alright," he sighs, pressing his thumb in a little harder. "Then tell me if it hurts _too much_, okay?"

She nods, and he spends the next fifteen minutes on just that one shoulder, watching her carefully as her brow knits and smoothes, easing off when she tenses from the pain, trying to judge how much of a grimace is safe, and at what point she needs him to shift off a certain point to give her a momentary reprieve. Then, he tells her to roll so he can get the other out of the way before moving on to the more pleasurable parts of this massage. The other shoulder is just as bad, and by the time he's worked the knots free of it, she has a permanent pout.

"Sit up a little; tell me how it feels," he instructs, and she lifts herself gingerly into a sitting position and shifts her shoulders, rolls her neck.

"Sore," she tells him. "But better."

"You might be a little tender tomorrow, but the knots should all be gone." He rubs his palms together vigorously to warm them, then places them on her shoulders and rubs them lightly to soothe the ache.

"Thanks..."

"Y'know, that wouldn't hurt so much if you didn't let them get so bad."

"Gee, thanks," she bites, and there goes that good mood...

"If you'd let me finish…" Pete begins, pointedly. "I was going to suggest that we make one session a month a massage session, so we can catch problem areas like that before they actually become problems."

She's still and silent for a second and then she just says, "Oh."

"Yeah, 'oh,'" he mutters, and Charlotte whips her head around to glare at him. "Don't wrench your neck," he orders, guiding her gently to face forward again. "Lie down, let me do the rest." As she compiles, he asks, "Have you thought about prenatal yoga? It'd be a good stress buster, and will help you stay active..."

"I've been bloated and barfy for the last two months," she reminds. "The last thing that sounded appealing was contortin' myself."

"Well, the nausea should be easing now, so it's something to think about," he tells her, and before she can find some other way to protest, he says, "Now, just relax. The rest of this should be better."

She exhales heavily, then nods and closes her eyes again as Pete begins to work his way down her back. True to his word, the rest of the massage goes smoothly and by the time he's made it all the way down to her calf, she's liquid and pliant, and quite possibly asleep.

His fingers graze her ankle as he reaches for her foot, and she jumps a little. Pete smirks, and murmurs, "Sorry."

Someone is ticklish.

He ups the pressure, knowing a lighter touch can be torture, and she curls her toes and bites her lip.

He stops. "Good or bad?"

"Good." Her voice is low and velvety, and Pete congratulates himself a little for a job well done. And he knows he's really got her when he finishes that foot, and taps her thigh gently, telling her she needs to roll and scoot to the other side. She lets out a pathetic little whine, and then seems to catch herself, her eyes snapping open and looking at him, like she hopes maybe he didn't catch it.

Pete laughs at her, which earns him a glare, and a, "Shut up. I'm all... noodley." He chuckles again, mostly because she's so relaxed she can't quite manage to sound truly annoyed with him.

"Alright, come on," he urges, "Noodle yourself to the other side of the bed."

After a deep breath, she manages to actually do it gracefully, situating herself and then relaxing back into the bed. Pete works his magic on her other side, and if she thought she felt like a limp noodle before, it's nothing compared to the way she's practically melted into the sheets by the time he's really done with her.

"Oh, my God," she tells him when he says they're finished. "Just take all the money in my wallet and run."

"You can pay me tomorrow," he tells her with a little laugh, capping the lavender oil and moving to grab his lotion as well. "If you have spare keys, I'll lock up behind myself, so you don't have to move yet. I can drop them by your office in the morning."

"Cooper has 'em," she grumbles, heaving a sigh. "And I have to pee again anyway. Just give me a minute."

"Mind if I use the bathroom for that minute?"

"Pete," she sighs fondly, rolling carefully onto her back and splaying across the sheets. Her bra twists out of place slightly with the movement, and Pete focuses hard on stashing the bottles in his bag. "I don't think there's anythin' you could do right now that I'd mind."

They share a chuckle and he heads for the bathroom. By the time he comes back, she's sitting up, stretching gingerly. She reaches down for her clothes and slides into them while he packs up, and before too long, she's pulling a wad of cash from her purse and handing it to him. He doesn't have to count it to know she's tipped him generously.

She walks him to the door, and thanks him, looking all sleepy and languid.

"Go to bed," he orders. "Get a full night."

"In a bit," she tells him, one hand on the door as he passes through. "There're still uneaten pretzels in this house. Can't possibly think of sleepin' til that's been rectified."

Pete leaves laughing, pleasantly surprised to find that he actually feels better than he did when he got there.


	33. Chapter 33

**_Author's Note: _**_This chapter contains some dialogue that was lifted directly from the show. I take no credit for such dialogue - all credit for any lines featured on the show goes to ABC/Disney/Shonda Rhimes. It's their world, I just like to play in it._

* * *

><p>Charlotte's at her desk on Monday morning, poring over emails and still feeling good and relaxed when Cooper lets himself in, a white paper bag in hand. She sees him and smiles — they'd had a whole lot of really fabulous sex on Saturday night (a great way to purge some of her lingering blue mood from the night before), and then he'd made pancakes for her on Sunday morning. All in all, she's feeling pretty good about them right now.<p>

"Mornin'," she greets, and then she notices his hesitant expression, and her own face falls a little. "What?"

"I brought you something," he tells her, "But I'm not sure if it's something you can have, so I don't want you to be mad at me…"

Charlotte smirks and holds out her hand. "Gimme. I'll appreciate the gesture, even if I can't stomach it."

He hands her the bag, and Charlotte peeks inside. Pastry. Deep fried, glazed, delicious pastry.

"Apple fritter," he tells her. "You practically drowned your pancakes in syrup yesterday, so I thought maybe you could handle it?"

The sweet, doughy smell wafts up to her, and Charlotte feels her stomach gurgle with something she's pretty sure is hunger. She tears off a piece, and lifts it to her mouth, chewing tentatively. The glaze melts on her tongue, and she very nearly closes her eyes at the pleasure of it. "God, this is good," she mutters, and Cooper grins.

"You're okay?"

"Well, I'm eatin' it, that's for sure," she says, tearing off another piece. "Whether it's okay, I guess we'll find out." She smirks, leans back in her chair. "You just stoppin' by to bring me breakfast?" She pops the piece into her mouth, and chews. God, apple fritters. She's missed apple fritters so, so much…

Cooper shrugs, rounding her desk as he says, "That and…" He leans in and presses his lips to hers briefly. "This."

Charlotte's heart does somethin' stupid and girly, and she finds herself grinning at him, shaking her head. He can be so damned sweet sometimes…

"Mm. Well, I appreciate the sugar — both kinds," she teases, tilting her head up and stealing another kiss.

"I need to take care of my baby," he tells her, then reaches between them and presses a hand to her belly. "And this little peanut, too."

Charlotte rolls her eyes, and pushes him away, still smiling, and she says, "Lame, Cooper."

"Oh, come on, that was sweet," he defends, good-naturedly, leaning casually against her desk.

"No, the fritter was sweet. And the kiss. The pun was lame. And besides…" She pats her belly gently. "Baby and I don't need takin' care of. We're good on our own."

Cooper frowns at that, and she actually feels a little bit bad. It wasn't intended to cut at him, but clearly it did.

"I like taking care of you." He reaches over, and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. "I'm the dad-to-be, that's my job. I know you like to be independent, but… I wish you'd let me help you out a little more."

She looks away, nodding soberly, wishing she could find a way to explain the push and pull going on inside her. On the one hand, she likes the idea of him bringin' her breakfast, and rubbin' her feet, and doin' all that daddy-to-be stuff, but on the other… "There's a lot I can't control right now," she tells him carefully, quietly, "I like to handle the things I can."

"Got it," he murmurs, and she can tell his feelings are still hurt. She has the overwhelming urge to roll her eyes and tell him to grow up and get over it, but she also has a bag full of fritter in her lap, and he's got that kicked puppy look…

So she gives him a smile, tries to make it sweet as pie, and says, "But that doesn't mean I don't appreciate things like this. I do. A lot. So thank you."

His lips curve a little at that, and he nods.

"Now, I have a lot of work to do," she tells him, making a point to sound reluctant as she does, "So why don't you give me one more kiss and then let me get to it?"

He bends to peck her lightly, but she leans into it, moves her lips lazily against his, and lingers. And then she puts just enough air between them to offer him a whispered, "I love you."

She doesn't dole them out as often as he does, so she knows he cherishes them. She gives it to him this time as a balm for the ache she's causin' him, and sure enough, he grins at her, and tells her, "I love you, too," before pressing a final kiss to her brow and standing up straight. "I'll let you get back to work," he tells her, heading for the door.

Charlotte reaches for another piece of fritter, and turns back to her emails.

**.:.**

Charlotte's not the only one chowing down on pastries — or about to, anyway. When Cooper stepped off the elevator on four, Violet got off with him, the Pacific Wellcare breakfast buffet calling her name. Apparently this morning's carbo-loading wasn't enough, because she finds herself gravitating toward a tray of sugary, bready deliciousness.

She's just taken a bite of her first choice when she hears Sheldon's voice over her shoulder: "It's good, isn't it?"

Violet half-chokes, setting her plate down on the table, and she's still chewing when he continues, "See this is fortuitous, finding you here."

Fortuitous her ass, she thinks, as she nods, her mouth still full, chewing, chewing… God, why does it take so long so long to chew a freakin' pastry? And what is this, Pester Violet Day? First Cooper giving her the third degree about telling Pete and Sheldon over breakfast this morning, and now Sheldon's cornering her? Maybe its the pastries, she thinks. Some kind of karmic retribution for eating poorly during pregnancy — every time she does it, she'll be chucked into a conversation she doesn't want to have.

"We need to talk, and you've been avoiding," Sheldon continues. "Avoidance isn't good for anyone, Violet."

"I'm not avoiding you, Sheldon," she lies, her mouth finally free enough to talk. "I've just been very busy, and I have a patient waiting." What's one more lie on top of the ones she's already told? She's not ready for this yet — to face him, to tell him, knowing what's going on just south of those pastries in her belly.

Thankfully she sees a life raft for this terrible conversation: Cooper has left Charlotte's office and is making his way toward her. Thank God for Cooper. She latches on to the escape route, asking, "Hey Cooper, you going back up?"

"Oh good, you guys are talking," he observes, pausing to chat and totally not answering her question. Violet's heart sinks. So much for an escape route.

"In fact, we're not talking," Sheldon tells him, clearly irritated by the whole situation. Great.

"We're talking, Sheldon," she counters amicably, trying to diffuse. "I love talking to you. I love spending time with you. I'm just—"

"Busy. I know," he finishes for her, and why are they still standing here?

Cooper glances pointedly at a couple of kids in the waiting area nearby, then notes, "Cute kids."

Violet gives him a warning look. Oh, he is not about to do what she thinks he's about to do…

But he is, because he continues, "Over there, Sheldon," making sure to draw Sheldon's attention to exactly where she doesn't want it. "Don't you think?"

Sheldon turns his head to look at them, and Violet bares her teeth at Cooper while the other doctor's back is turned, giving him a silent growl. He's so going to pay for this later.

"I guess. In small doses," Sheldon responds. "I'm not really a kid person. They don't seem to like me."

Well. That answers that. Violet feels her cheery veneer crack just a little. Sheldon doesn't want kids.

"So, you don't have kids of your own," Cooper surmises, either unaware or uncaring that this conversation is so not something she wants right now.

And then Sheldon digs the anxiety knife just a little deeper, chuckling, "No. God, no. Thankfully."

"You must see them in your practice?" Cooper continues, and why won't he just _shut up_? "I bet you're great with them."

Sheldon looks over his shoulder again at the kids, hesitating a little before admitting, "You know what I find? I'm okay with kids. In short bursts. Beyond that… Well, it's not a problem, is it?"

Violet gives a dumb little nod as Cooper shakes his head in agreement with Sheldon.

Not a problem at all, she thinks, unless of course this baby she's carrying is his.


	34. Chapter 34

_**Author's Note: **__This chapter contains some dialogue that was lifted directly from the show. I take no credit for such dialogue - all credit for any lines featured on the show goes to ABC/Disney/Shonda Rhimes. It's their world, I just like to play in it._

* * *

><p>The next night, Cooper finds himself standing outside Violet's house, shifting the paper drive-thru bags in his hand. Burgers again, tonight.<p>

Violet opens the door, and he can tell by looking at her that it hasn't been a good day.

"That bad, huh?" he asks, stepping inside, and heading for the couch — that's where they do this, the bingeing on junk food, when one of them is in dire need of some cheering up.

"Pete doesn't want kids," she tells him, slumping into the cushions next to him. Ah. He'd suspected that… "Sheldon doesn't want kids, Pete doesn't want kids." His heart breaks for her a little — at least he knows his girlfriend is on board with this whole baby thing (and thank God, y'know, considering she's the one doing the actual _having _of the baby). Cooper leans forward, and opens their burger boxes while Violet gets this off her chest. "I don't want kids. You know? I mean, what business do I have having a kid?" Plenty, he thinks. She'll be a great mom. But he can tell she's not done talking, so he just unfolds a napkin, lays it on her lap. "Me. Raising a kid by myself that I don't want…" He hands her a burger. "Wouldn't know what to do with."

He has to stop her here — she has one thing terribly wrong.

"You're not alone," he assures.

"Every night, I wake up in a cold sweat, Cooper. " Violet bites into her burger, but keeps talking. "I lay there panicked that I'm gonna wait too long. I'm gonna wait too long…" She trails off, sitting up and sipping her drink. She doesn't have to finish her sentence for him to know where it's going, and he feels a little selfish that his first thought is that it would put the kibosh on his plans for their kids to be lifetime playmates. Sure enough, she sets her drink back down and continues, "And then it'll be too late to have an abortion, and I will just be stuck. And I'll never be free ever again."

"Violet…" He turns to look at her. He hates that she's hurting, that she's so torn up about this. But at least she's willing to talk to him about how she's feeling — there's a bright side there.

"I don't know what to do," she admits. "All I know is that unless you're bringing me sticky buns and gyros and burgers then—" She chuckles a little, and Cooper finally takes a bite of his own burger. "I'm lost, Cooper. I mean, I see you and I feel better, but most of the time, I walk around lost and… alone and scared."

He looks at her, lips quirked up in a half-smile. It sounds like the solution to this problem is pretty simple — finally, something he can make better.

"Well, then I will be here," he tells her. "Whenever you need me, I will be here, and we'll sit, and we'll eat. We'll figure this out. We'll work through everything, and… make it okay. Together."

She smiles back, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "How do you think Charlotte will feel about that?"

Cooper just shrugs. "Charlotte is making it increasingly clear that she likes to take care of herself. And I'm not saying that I'm gonna stop trying to help her or anything, but look at the bright side — if she keeps shutting me out, it means I have plenty of time to spend with you. And I'd do anything for you."

He leans forward and grabs a bunch of fries, stuffing them in his mouth, then tosses the carton of fries onto Violet's lap.

"You're going to, what? Bring me breakfast?"

"Uh huh," he promises around his mouthful. "Every day." He swallows, reaches for his Coke. "Unless I spend the night at Charlotte's, then it makes no sense to come all the way back here, then go all the way back to Santa Monica. Unless, y'know, it's a breakfast crisis. I'll make the drive if you need emergency pancakes."

She smirks, and he's glad. He likes to be helpful, likes cheering her up.

"And you'll… rub my feet, and take me to lamaze classes, and-"

"All of it," he promises. "I mean, I have to be there for Charlotte, too, but you're my best friend. I'm not going to leave you hanging. I'm not going to let you feel like you have no one. I can take care of both of you, at least until Charlotte gets so big she finally has to accept she can't do everything herself. And maybe by then, Pete or Sheldon will come around?"

Violet's expression darkens slightly, and she nods glumly, picking at the fries in her lap. "One can only hope."

"You won't be alone," he swears again, settling back and reaching for the remote. "I promise. Now, I'm pretty sure there are people baking cakes, and we need to see it."

Violet smirks, and nods, taking a generous bite out of her burger and shifting a little closer.

He's not sure exactly how he'll juggle being there for Violet, and being there for Charlotte, but there's one thing Cooper knows: his women need him, so he'll find a way.


	35. Chapter 35

She's stubborn — she always has been. She knows that, her Momma and Daddy knew that. Everyone knows that. There's just somethin' in Charlotte King that doesn't like being told what to do, even if it's the right thing for her. But she's pregnant now, and it's not just about her, and her muscles are gettin' sore and restless from lack of use. So on Tuesday night, while her boyfriend rushes off to tend to some kind of emotional emergency with his needy best friend, Charlotte pulls on her yoga pants and a tank top, and makes a drive she's made hundreds of times before, but not in the last few months.

She parks, grabs her yoga mat and jumbo water bottle from the back seat, and heads into the building.

Weeks may have passed, and her world may have flipped upside down, but everything here seems the same. Same pale green walls, same rack of yoga wear and pyramid of rolled mats for sale. Same girl behind the counter as she walks up to have her card scanned.

The girl greets her with a smile, as always — although it seems a little brighter today. "Hey, Dr. King! Long time, no see."

"Hi, Tracy." She holds out her member card, and Tracy scans the barcode. "Been a busy few months."

"It's not your usual night," she points out. "Bikram's at 6:30 tonight — you've already missed half of it."

"Yeah, I know…" Charlotte's suddenly nervous, and she can't really figure out why. It's not like nobody knows about this baby yet, but then again… it's not like she's had to up and tell all that many people either. Her hand flutters anxiously for her belly, and she grimaces as she admits, "I'm here for the prenatal class."

Tracy's face goes a little surprised, then she grins, hugely. "Oh, wow — that's awesome!" She catches herself, reins it in a little, then asks, "It _is_ awesome, right?"

"It's… yeah, I guess," Charlotte shrugs. "I'm still gettin' used to it. Can I get a towel?"

"Yeah, of course," she says, reaching for the stack behind her. "How far along are you? Can I ask that? Is that, like, an okay thing to ask someone?"

Something about the awkward hesitance there sets Charlotte at ease — she can't for the life of her say why — and she laughs a little, nodding. "Sure. Twelve and a half weeks."

She catches Tracy sneaking a glance over the counter as she passes her the towel, and Charlotte rolls her eyes, shifting her yoga mat a little so her stomach isn't blocked. "Not much to see yet," she assures. "Sorry to disappoint."

Tracy shrugs. "Not like it's any of my business anyway. But, um, here's the prenatal schedule," she hands over a sheet of paper, "And you have to sign a new waiver," another sheet, "And no more Bikram until after the baby. Oh, and be sure you talk to Rachel — she's the prenatal instructor — She knows a couple of really awesome trainers who specialize in prenatal exercise. You've always been in really great shape, so, y'know, you can probably handle some of the higher impact stuff if you're working with someone who knows your new limits. And Rachel has a prenatal Pilates class on Saturday afternoons. It's really hard to get a spot sometimes, but I can, y'know…" She glances around to make sure nobody is within earshot, lowering her voice a little when she offers, "Maybe sign you in early if you want…? If you promise to show."

And this is why you buy Christmas gifts for the check-in staff, Charlotte thinks to herself, knowing that showing just that little bit of extra kindness over the last year is paying off right this minute.

She leans in conspiratorially and tells her, "Definitely. Thank you. I'll be there." A quick signature on her new waiver, and Tracy directs her back to the third studio on the left.

She tried to cut it a little close, time-wise, but clearly wasn't close enough. There's a half dozen other women in here, all chatting away, their bellies in various states of bulge. Charlotte's throat goes dry. God, is she going to be expected to socialize? And is she going to have to spend the whole class lookin' at that? At the swollen, waddling monstrosity she's about to become?

It's a little too real for her, a little too much, so she finds a spot on the far wall, and busies herself by furtively checking emails on her BlackBerry. She's not supposed to have her phone in the studio, she knows, but it's on silent, and she'll break the rules if it means keepin' her from gettin' sucked into some kind of mommy and me playgroup crap. And besides, she's an important woman. She has emails. Important emails. That's her excuse, and she's stickin' to it.

Thankfully, the room fills up quickly, and class starts exactly on time. Rachel is friendly, but not saccharine or way too into the whole wishy-washy New-Agey baby babble, so the class is bearable. Her muscles are grateful for the use, but tender in a way she wasn't expecting, the stretches deeper than she remembers, now that she's been away so long. She shuts her eyes, focuses on the feel, on her breath, on the way her body seems just a little different now in ways she hadn't quite realized yet. She tries to drown out every adjustment to a pose that doesn't apply to her, not wanting to hear how her body's about to start hindering her.

It distracts her the whole time, and she can't quite get herself to that relaxed, loose-limbed place yoga usually takes her, but she tries to tell herself that it's still a step up from all the sittin' at home tryin' not to puke she's been doin' for most of the last few weeks.

The class is over a little sooner than she expects, and she keeps her head down and eyes to herself as she rolls up her mat, and the thrum of conversation picks up again. It's lower now, quiet, respectful of the relaxed place everyone's supposed to be in. That's something, at least.

Charlotte waits until most of them have filed out, and then approaches the instructor. "Hi. Rachel, right?"

"Yeah," She turns, smiles. Why is everyone so damned cheerful in this place? And why is it bothering her all of a sudden? "You're new. How'd you like it?"

"Not my first day of yoga," Charlotte assures, and Rachel shakes her head quickly.

"Oh, I could tell that. I meant you're new to prenatal." She lifts her water bottle to her lips, takes a sip.

"Right. Yes. I am." Charlotte adjusts the carrying strap of her mat.

"So, how'd you like it?" she repeats, and Charlotte jerks her shoulder a little.

"It was good," she answers quickly. "Good."

"You're a little tense for post-yoga," Rachel points out, and Charlotte figures _Screw it_.

"I'm still tryin' to fit into my regular pants. Starin' at a lot of really pregnant women isn't exactly bringin' me to a Zen place."

"Ah," Rachel tells her, knowingly. "Believe it or not, that's not uncommon."

"Is the gabbin' their faces off not uncommon either? Because I'm a woman who likes a little more quiet, and a little less yappin' around my yoga class."

"Tuesday night's a chatty bunch," Rachel tells her apologetically. "Try Thursday. The Thursday class is quieter, and oddly less pregnant. A lot of mid-second trimester women, you'll fit right in. Either way, come early. Get a spot in the front, and you'll get less of an eyeful."

Charlotte nods slowly, takes in the info. "Thanks for the advice. Tracy mentioned you knew some good trainers? Could I get some names? I run — or, I guess, I used to, but, uh…"

"Yeah, of course." She bends easily, reaches into her bag, and pulls out a couple of business cards, handing them to Charlotte. "Be careful with running — you're more injury prone when you're pregnant. Your center of balance is off, your ligaments are changing… There's no reason you can't do a moderate jog every now and then — but I'd recommend the gym. A treadmill. Something you can control."

"Yeah, thanks," Charlotte murmurs, flipping through the business cards. She taps them against her hand as she looks back up, and offers Rachel a smile. "I've gotta run. But thanks again."

"Sure, no problem," Rachel reaches down, hefts her bag to her shoulder, and Charlotte knows she needs to beat it out of here if she doesn't want to be strolling out with the instructor. "See you Thursday?"

Charlotte tells her that yes, she will, then heads for the door.

Pete was right, she knows. This is good for her — or it will be, once she settles into it — but she wishes her first night had left her feelin' a little less daunted.

_It's just yoga_, she tells herself. _You come back in two days, and you do it again, and you keep comin' until it doesn't make you feel this way._

Still, she feels sulky and blue the whole drive home.


	36. Chapter 36

On Sunday night, they're at Charlotte's kitchen table, making their way through several take-out containers of Chinese food, and Cooper is considering broaching the subject he's been thinking of since he left Violet's a few days earlier. He watches Charlotte eat — really eat — and smiles. She's thirteen weeks along as of yesterday, and what a difference a week has made. She's tearing her way through a carton of lo mein, no concern that it will revisit her in a few minutes. She's feeling better — visibly so — and he's not sure if it's time, or Pete, but either way he's glad for it. And it makes him think that maybe now is a good time to ask her. No better time than the present, right?

He shifts his sesame chicken around with his fork, and asks her carefully, "How would you feel if I stayed with Violet for a while?"

Charlotte just blinks at him. "Excuse me?"

"She just found out something that's pretty life-changing for her, and I think she could use the support."

It sounds reasonable, right?

Charlotte was nearly through a bite of noodles when he brought it up, and she chews one more time, slowly, then swallows. "What's goin' on?"

"I can't tell you that," he says, because he swore he wouldn't tell anyone about the pregnancy, and he's certainly not going to tell anyone who spends forty minutes twice a week with one of the potential fathers.

"_Excuse me?_" Charlotte asks again, and he can tell now that she's pissed — and not just by the way she stilled her fork halfway through twirling her noodles.

"She asked me not to tell anyone, and -"

"And I asked you not to tell anyone but your parents about our baby, but you ran off and told Violet anyway," Charlotte snaps. "So she owes me a damned secret, the way I see it. What's goin' on?"

She has a point there. And he can tell that not telling her is just going to make this worse.

"Okay…" He clears his throat lightly, sets his fork down. "She, uh, she just found out she's pregnant, and she's having kind of a hard time adjusting."

Charlotte's eyes go wide and furious. "Oh, you have got to be kiddin' me — you are a real piece of work sometimes, you know that?"

"What?"

"I told you I was pregnant and not to tell anyone and you told Violet," she reminds, like she didn't already just tell him this. "Violet tells you she's pregnant and not to tell anyone, and when I ask what's up, you say you can't tell me?"

"She asked me-"

"So did I!" she yells at him, slapping her fork back onto her plate with a clatter. "And to answer your question, I'd feel pretty damned pissed off. If you're gonna live with anyone because they're pregnant, it's gonna be me."

Okay. That's not at all what he expected her to say. They haven't talked about living together since he found out about the baby, not once, so he thinks it's a little left-field and unfair for her to be throwing that at him right now. And besides, it's not like she needs him — she's made that very clear in the last week and a half — especially now that her morning sickness seems to be waning, and Violet clearly does need him.

He tries to explain his reasoning to her: "Look, Charlotte, she needs me more than you do."

"What?"

"You're more self-sufficient, you don't need help, you don't need-"

"The hell I don't!" She's starting to look hurt as well as pissed, and Cooper's suddenly aware that he may be treading on very thin ice here. "I spent the last month and a half pukin' my guts up, draggin' my ass through the day because I was so tired, and I still had to do my job — both my jobs — and my dishes, and my laundry, and all that day-to-day crap, _and_ deal with my dyin' father. You think I couldn't have used some help? You think it wouldn't have been nice to have more of your support than just a text message now and then, and you harpin' on me about seein' someone about how sick I was?"

"I've been supportive!" he defends. "I've been here, right here, wanting to help. I offered to help when you told me you were pregnant, and you never took me up on it. And I've tried to be there for you since then, and every time I try you shut me down."

She can't say he didn't try, because he did. As soon as she told him, he offered his help whenever she needed it, and he's given it, too, when she's let him. Which has been almost never. It's like pulling teeth to get her to let him in and she chooses _now_ to suddenly want his attention?

"You offered because you felt like you had to, Cooper."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did, and don't even try lyin' to me about it. You were still pissed about the practice, but I was carryin' your kid, so you were willin' to help if I needed. But don't think I had any illusions that it was me you were worried about—"

"Oh, come on, Charlotte. I think I've made it pretty clear that I'm worried about you, not just the baby. I wanted you to stay last week when you got upset after I gave you the card from my parents, and—"

"Because I was upset! And nothin' gets to you like me bein' upset. That's what got us back together in the first place, right? You were all _no, no, I can't do this, I can't trust you_, and then my father died, and all of a sudden you want me back. Because, what? I'm weak now? And that turns you on, right?"

Okay, wow. This is… wow. "Okay…" he tells her slowly, cautiously. "I think maybe we're a little… hormonal right now, and—"

"Oh, don't you even try that! This isn't some pregnancy thing. You shut me out, too. For weeks. I tried, I wanted to get back together, and _you_ didn't. I wanted you around, and you wanted no part of it, unless I was cryin' or pukin' or offerin' sex. But now Violet is pregnant, and you want to go stay at her place and help her out? Who died, or does she just get that courtesy off the bat?"

She's fuming, and irrational, and Cooper just wants to calm her down so they can talk about this. "Charlotte… please… Take a breath and listen to me—"

"No—"

"_Yes_," he insists, reaching for her hand. She yanks it back, her elbow whacking into her glass and nearly toppling it. Cooper barrels ahead anyway, "It's not like that. I don't care just because your father died. I care because I love you. Your dad dying just put things in perspective for me, that's all. It was the first time we spent a significant amount of time together since I found out about the practice, and it… I realized how much I missed you, and loved you, and how much all this meant to me. Okay?"

She eyes him silently, clearly still burning with wounded fury, but not yelling at him again, thank God.

"And for the record, I wouldn't be with Violet all the time, just when I'm not here with you," he tries to explain. "And I really don't think it's fair to say—"

"Why does this fall to you? Where's the baby-daddy?"

Cooper looks at her for a second. He's already revealed one of Violet's secrets; he doesn't want to give up the other. She's not ready to tell them yet, and if it comes from Charlotte… let's just say, he's not in the mood to have both of the most important women in his life mad at him, and Charlotte's already seething, so…

But then she gets this look of horror on her face, her jaw dropping a little, and he catches the hint of a quiver in her chin before she says, "Oh, for the love of all that's holy, Cooper, it better not be you."

"No," he assures. "God, no. It's just…" He doesn't want her thinking it's him, doesn't want her thinking this is worse than it is, because its already a disaster, so he decides to tell her everything, and just hope Violet forgives him. "She doesn't know whether it's Sheldon or Pete. She was sleeping with both of them, and now she's pregnant, and she doesn't know which one's the father."

Charlotte scoffs, shakes her head, and slumps back a little in her chair. "And she called me a skank."

"Charlotte," he scolds, with a grimace.

"What?"

"She didn't mean that," he says, even though he's pretty sure Violet did.

"Actually, I'm pretty sure she did," Charlotte echoes his thoughts.

"Even if she did," Cooper tries to downplay, "it's beside the point. And, c'mon, like you've never slept with more than one guy at the same time. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if you've had more than one guy _at the same time_."

She tilts her head, crosses her arms, and he thinks maybe that was the wrong thing to say, before she lays into him with, "Oh, so now you think I'm a skank, too?"

"No. God, Charlotte, that's not what I'm saying." Why does she have to be so fucking frustrating all the time? "I'm just saying you and I don't really get to throw stones about people having multiple sexual partners. That's it. That's all I'm saying."

He knew this might not go over well, but he hadn't been expecting it to become this much of a fight. He figured she might complain a little, but he never expected her to be so… hurt. And she is, he can see it all over her.

In fact, her voice is almost shaking when she says to him, "That and that you want to go coddle poor, sensitive Violet because she's pregnant. She's capable enough of spreadin' her legs for two different guys and gettin' herself knocked up, but God forbid she have to deal with the consequences without someone holdin' her hand."

That's not what this is about, he's thinking, but she's tipping her chin up, her mouth a tight, hard line that doesn't do enough to hide the fact that she's wrecked over this. The very idea of him moving in with Violet is painful to her. And he doesn't want to hurt her, so he gives in.

"Okay, you know what? Forget I even brought it up."

"I wish I could," she says quietly, and his heart breaks a little for her. He really fucked this up. But he thinks he may know how to make it right…

"Look, if you want me to move in with you-"

She cuts him off before he can even get the offer out.

"This is not the time for that conversation, Cooper. In fact, this isn't the time for any conversation — get out."

Now he's the one blinking and stunned. "What?"

"How come every time I kick you out, you give me that dumbfounded look?" she asks, scraping her chair back and carrying her plate to the sink. Cooper stays in his seat.

"Because every time you kick me out, it's a little ridiculous, Charlotte."

She shakes her head, turns back to him and looks him in the eye, "Well, then get ready for some more ridiculous, because I'm about to say it again: Get out." She pauses for effect, then stalks her way back toward him as she speaks. "Don't go movin' in with Violet, but get outta my place. I don't want to talk to you anymore tonight.

Cooper can't believe it's come to this, again. He has a fleeting thought that they'll never be able to parent a kid together if she bails on every argument, but what he says is, "No, of course, because if you ever wanted to really _talk _about anything, you wouldn't be you."

She twists her face into a look of contempt and says, "Screw you, Cooper. If you hate me so much-"

"Don't," he cuts her off, standing then and getting in her face, because he's had about enough. He draws the line there, at her accusing him of hatred. "Don't do that. I don't hate you, and you know it. I love you."

"Well, you have a funny way of showin' it." Her voice wavers just a little, then, and he's suddenly very aware that she's fighting back tears as she pushes past him and reaches for the take-out containers on the table. The room is deathly silent for a minute, aside from the quiet scrape and pop of cardboard cartons being flipped shut, and Charlotte's footfalls as she carries what's left of them to the fridge.

This has gotten way out of hand.

He doesn't want the conversation to end like this, doesn't want to leave with her so upset with him, and him so irritated with her, so he tries again to smooth things over. "Can't we just go to separate corners for a while, and then sit down and talk this out? Can't we try, for once, to do that?"

"There's nothin' to talk out, Cooper," she says quietly, every word crisp and precise. This is the deep-freeze anger, he realizes. She's going cold, shutting him out. This is going to be one of those we-don't-speak-for-days fights. She looks at him then, raises her chin like she does when she wants him to know she means business. "You're not movin' in with her. Not if you want to be with me."

"Fine," he agrees. "I'm not moving in with Violet — I already said that I wouldn't. It was just an idea — a bad idea. Now, can we please talk-"

He reaches for her again, but she evades, yanking her arm out of his reach when he's only just barely touched it, heading for the sink. "No. Not tonight. Not right now. I can't even look at you anymore. Just leave."

She's got her back turned to him, but he hears her sniffle just a little before she yanks the tap on, and reaches for one of the dishes there. He knows when he's lost with her, so he sighs, shakes his head, and grabs his things without another word. He may not be moving in with Violet, but he's sure as hell headed there tonight.


	37. Chapter 37

Tuesday rolls around, and Pete heads into the office early for his usual session with Charlotte. She'd been surprisingly agreeable for both sessions last week, and she's taking well to the treatment. Her bad attitude and snippy temper seemed to fade alongside her nausea, either that or they're actually starting to like each other. He's not sure which is the case — and not sure which he'd prefer, to be honest — but regardless, the relative calm of the last week of treatments have left him unprepared for the Charlotte King he treats on Tuesday morning.

For one thing, she's late. She's beat him there for every session until now, but this morning she comes in ten minutes after their scheduled time, and looking like hell. Her eyes are shadowed and red, her color a little off. There's not a drop of makeup on her face, and she looks exhausted and wired at the same time. Like she's running on fumes and anxiety.

"Sorry I'm late," she tells him as she walks in, the cloud of tension around her filling up the room and setting him on edge. Something is very wrong with Charlotte King. "Couldn't sleep last night. Or the night before. Finally got to sleep about three-thirty this mornin', and then I overslept." She sets her purse — oversized again today — down with a heavy thud. "I have a nine-thirty meetin' at the hospital, and I need to put somethin' on my face before I go, so it's gonna have to be a shorter session today."

"What's wrong?" he asks, and she stiffens, her scowl deepening.

"Nothin', it's just a staff meetin'." She rounds the shelves, and hoists herself up onto the table as usual.

"That's not what I'm talking about," he tells her, joining her on the other side and grabbing his stethoscope and blood pressure cuff. "Something's wrong with you. Give me your arm."

She does, huffing irritatedly and telling him again, "Nothin's wrong." He wraps the cuff around her arm, starts to inflate it, and her words are sharp as tacks when she says, "I'm just havin' a baby with an idiot."

Ah. Cooper did something. It's sort of par for the course, Pete thinks. It's starting to seem like if Charlotte and Cooper go a month without some sort of drama, the world might stop turning. He adjusts the pressure of the cuff, listens to her pulse, checks the reading. She's high.

"Must've been some fight. Your blood pressure's up a little."

"I don't like needles," she tells him, testily, but he knows that's not it.

"You don't mind them so much anymore. And your pressure was fine last week." He looks at her again, at the way her scowl is drawn tight, the exhaustion he can see in her eyes. He can't for the life of him figure out why, but he offers, "If you want to talk...?"

"Pete, I don't need a therapist. If I wanted a therapist, I've got one in my own damned practice, and several I use for referrals from the hospital. There's a billion in the Los Angeles metro area. If I want someone to talk to, I can damn well find someone, so just butt out."

"Wow," he says, crossing his arms and pretending to look impressed. "That was a nice little tirade."

"Shut it. Just stick the needles in me already."

She's getting even more amped up somehow, like even talking about talking about this is making her more anxious. She's fidgety. Pent up. Hanging on to this much stress isn't good for her pregnancy.

"You know what? Why don't we skip the needles today."

If anything, she just looks more annoyed. "You did not have me come in just to cancel on me."

"No, that's not what I mean. You're amped to eleven, Charlotte. Carrying around this much anxiety isn't good for you, or the baby. If you don't want to talk about it that is fine with me, but I say we skip the acupuncture today and go for another massage instead. At the very least, I can deal with some of the physical tension."

She lets out a breath then, her shoulders sagging, and there's something very worn about her expression before she nods and consents, "Okay. Whatever. Lie down?"

"Yeah, on your side."

"I remember," she grumbles, and Pete has half a mind to whack her with the clean pillow he just grabbed, and tell her to cut the attitude. But her defensiveness isn't quite enough to hide the fact that she's stinging, emotionally, so he lets it go and just tells her to face toward the window.

Charlotte does as he instructs, tugging angrily at her dress as it twists awkwardly around her body. "Damnit," she curses. "I'm so sick of dresses I could spit. It's been two weeks since I've been able to properly button my pants."

"Sounds like you need to do some maternity shopping," he tells her, using his hands to guide her gently down to the table.

"Don't you even say it," she scolds, shifting a little, and adjusting the pillow under her head. "I'm puttin' it off as long as I can. I'm afraid I'll walk out with muumuus and high-waisted mom jeans. I'm gonna look like a goddamned school bus with legs soon."

Pete snickers a little, shaking his head and brushing her hair back, running his hands over her shoulder for a minute before starting to work gently at the tight muscles in her neck. "Maternity wear has come a long way," he points out. "Trust me, I see a lot of it working here. You'll be able to find something you like. And you won't look like a bus."

"Still. The thought makes my skin crawl." She lets out an exhale, and he's not quite sure whether it's a reaction to tension or the massage. Then she confesses, "I'm not ready yet. Maternity clothes are a little too real for me right now."

"Alright. We'll talk about something else then. How's the nausea?"

"Better. All but gone."

"What's the best thing you've eaten since Thursday?" It's a little game they started last week — the best thing she's eaten since the last time he's seen her. Tuesday it was cheese — half a pack of string cheese in one day. Said she couldn't get enough of it now. Thursday's was bacon (two slices at a breakfast meeting with Archer Montgomery) — something she'd gagged at for weeks, but now all of a sudden, just the idea of it has her mouth watering. Now that she's able to stomach more, eating has become a process of delightful rediscovery.

"Lo mein," she answers today, and he's impressed. She's graduated to greasy takeout — the morning sickness must definitely be on its way out the door. "Got a cravin' for it on Sunday, so we ordered in. It was amazing." She shifts a little, the already tight muscles of her shoulder cording even harder. Her voice is dark and bitter when she bites, "Then Cooper had to ruin it by openin' his mouth."

So she's been like this for two days. Not good.

He decides to push again.

"I think you do want to talk about this."

"I don't—"

"I think you need to bitch about this," he corrects. "What'd he do? You're never going to relax for me if you're holding onto it."

He watches her face, and she glances back in his direction, then drops her jaw a little when he hits a tight spot where her neck meets her shoulder. "Stay there," she tells him, looking straight ahead, her forehead wrinkling with an all too familiar expression that means he's hitting somewhere between necessary pain and pleasure.

Then, she surprises him by blurting, "He wants to move in with Violet!"

Pete's fingers still for a second. "What?"

"Yeah, that's pretty much what I said." She turns her head to look at him, frowning. "Why'd you stop?"

"Sorry, sorry…" He resumes the slow, steady kneading of his fingers into her tense muscles. "Why would he move in with Violet?"

"Because she's a goddamned damsel in distress; what else? Never mind the fact that I'm here, pregnant with his kid, sick and exhausted and… everything. No, none of that matters, because precious Violet got herself all kn—" She goes from animated to frozen, then her gaze slips back in his direction again, but doesn't quite make it to him. Her face melts from irritation, to concern, to an open-mouthed look he can only really pin-point as something akin to guilt. Then she snaps her mouth shut, swallows, licks her lips, and her voice is carefully even when she finally says, "He says she's goin' through somethin'. Wants to be there for her. God forbid he give a damn about me."

Her chin quivers a little at the end there, and she blinks hard. And then she makes this face, like she's furious at herself, and pulls herself back together. _Hormones_, he thinks. She's swimming in them, and riled up on top of it.

"What's she going through?" he asks, and normally he wouldn't pry but whatever it is has Charlotte backpedaling, and fast. For someone who usually has no problem saying whatever's on her mind, the censorship has his curiosity piqued.

"Nothin'. I don't know. Nothin'."

"Y'know, I'd expect you to be a better liar."

"I am an excellent liar," she defends. "You just… caught me off guard." She twists a little, moving away from his hand reflexively and adding, "And that hurts."

He eases up a little.

"Okay, well, clearly now I know you're lying, so what's up? Come on, you're in the Oceanside office. We gossip here."

"You people might, but I don't," she tells him. "I just got past Cooper bein' mad at me; I'm not rilin' him up again by spillin' the beans to you. No matter how pissed I am." She grunts softly. "Just a little lower? And to the right?"

He's tempted to tell her to let him work, this is what he's trained to do, after all, but he's too intrigued by the turn of the conversation, so he does as she asks. "There are beans to spill?"

Her expression goes even more pained now, and he's pretty sure it has nothing to do with his hands. "Shit," she mutters. "No. There's no beans. I have no beans. You want beans, go talk to Violet. And this conversation isn't exactly relaxin', by the way."

"Alright, you're right." But he can't resist, "Just one more question: is it any of my business?"

She's still, and quiet, and she works her jaw for a second too long before talking. He knows before she even says anything that the answer is yes. "Talk to Violet. I'm not takin' the fall for this."

Pete is on high alert now - there's something going on here, and he has a feeling it's something big. But she's clearly made her decision, and he's not going to risk undoing the work his hands are accomplishing by pushing her any further.

"Okay," he tells her. "I won't push."

"Thank you," she murmurs, and Pete smoothes his hands over her muscles again.

"Now relax a little. I want you less of a stress case when you leave here."

It's a pipe dream - now she seems to have a whole other problem to worry about. Still, they make a certain amount of progress, and while she may not be relaxed by the time she leaves, she's settled enough to be able to hide the way she's feeling. Since that seems to be baseline for her, Pete considers the morning a success.

He checks Violet's office as soon as Charlotte leaves, but she's not in yet. He has an early patient today, and tells himself to put whatever this big secret is out of his mind until later. But he's not going to let the day end without finding out what's going on.


	38. Chapter 38

"She's still not talking to me," Cooper tells Violet, flopping down onto her sofa as soon as they both have a free minute. Violet settles in next to him as he says, "I called, I texted, and she is completely ignoring me."

"Well, it's sort of understandable, Cooper. I can't believe you actually suggested moving in with me," she says, for like the thirtieth time since he showed up at her place after leaving Charlotte's the other night.

"I thought it'd be helpful! You said it yourself, unless I'm there bringing you dinner and talking you down, you don't know what to do with yourself."

"Yeah, and believe me, I'd love to have you there every day, but your girlfriend is pregnant, Cooper. You can't just tell her you want to live with someone else, and expect her to be okay with it."

"You're pregnant, too," he points out, although Charlotte's not supposed to know that. "And I didn't say 'live with,' I said 'stay with.'"

"Oh, what? Like an extended sleepover?" Violet teases, and, okay, yes, she's right, it's semantics. He said he wanted to move in with another woman. "And I may be," she drops her voice a little for the word, "_pregnant_, but not with your kid. She is."

"Yeah, she is, but she's made it pretty clear she doesn't want me around all the time. And it's like she's all upset that I didn't ask to live with her, but she's Charlotte. She wants to do everything herself, anyway. I try to help her and she tells me she's pregnant, not an invalid. And we just got back together; I didn't think we were back at the moving-in-together place yet." He drops his head back onto the sofa cushions, and lets out a long, dramatic sigh. "Why is she so difficult?"

"Um, because she's Charlotte," Violet says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

He turns his head, looks at her, and frowns. "How do I fix this?"

"Apologize?"

"I already did," he reminds. "I apologized before I left her place, I apologized again via text, I left a voicemail apologizing. I'm all apologized out. It's not working."

Violet makes a sympathetic face, and shrugs. "I don't know, maybe flowers?"

"This is Charlotte," he reminds.

"Okay, well, what does she like, Cooper? You're the one who knows her, not me."

Before he can answer, Pete knocks and then lets himself in. He glances at Cooper for a second, and then looks at Violet, and Cooper gets the feeling something is wrong. He has a brief thought that something went wrong with Charlotte during their session this morning, but then Pete's talking to Violet and not him, so it must be something else.

"Hey, um… is there something I need to know?"

The words are barely out of his mouth and Cooper's stomach goes cold. No. No way.

Violet swallows in a way that you can only tell is nervous if you really know her (which Cooper does), and evades with, "No… Why would you ask that?"

"I had Charlotte this morning," he begins, and then he looks to Cooper suddenly, "And she was a disaster, by the way. Her blood pressure was up, she was all tense and knotted. We skipped the acupuncture entirely and gave her a massage to try to help calm her down. She can't be this tense, Cooper. It's not good for her."

He wants to feel a little guilty about that, but the combination of Pete seeing Charlotte this morning and Pete having a question for Violet has Cooper's pulse suddenly pounding harder. She didn't. She couldn't have. "We, uh, we had a little fight," Cooper says, half-distracted by the quickly connecting dots in his head.

"Yeah, I heard. That's why I'm here, actually—" _Shit_, Cooper thinks. Shit, shit, he cannot _believe_ she said something to Pete of all people. "You guys are moving in together?"

"No," he and Violet answer in unison. And then Cooper adds, "No, we're not."

"Okay, well, Charlotte seemed to think that it was a definite possibility, and she said it was because something was going on with you," he looks to Violet, "I asked her what it was, and she backpedaled. She said if I wanted to know, I had to ask you. So. What's going on?"

"Nothing. There's nothing," Violet says, adding, "She's Charlotte; she's crazy." And then she looks to Cooper, just enough of a question in her eyes to let him know she's figured this out, too, and Cooper's pissed now for a whole other reason. This was supposed to be a secret; he wasn't supposed to tell anyone. He broke Violet's confidence for Charlotte, and look where it's fucking gotten him.

"Not that crazy," Pete counters, and Cooper's pretty sure he's not going to leave without an answer. Hell, he's surprised he doesn't already know. But no, of course, this is better — make Violet tell him herself. Like punishment for pulling Cooper away even a little bit. Violet's trapped in this now, and all because Charlotte couldn't keep her mouth shut. He can barely get her to open it most of the time, can hardly get her to say two words to him about what's bothering her, but she goes and runs her mouth to Pete about _Violet's_ pregnancy?

It occurs to him suddenly that she probably did this just to spite him. To get back it him for wanting to move in with Violet in the first place. There's a sick combination of anger and betrayal churning in his gut now.

How could she?

"It didn't seem like nothing, in fact it seemed like something pretty big. What's going on, Violet?" Pete asks again, and Violet looks to Cooper for help, but there's nothing he can do for her. He can't think of a more reasonable excuse right now, not with his brain all caught up in the position Charlotte's just put them in. All he can do is give her a little shake of his head.

"I… We… It's really none of your…" she stutters, but he doesn't think even Violet can flat-out lie about this to Pete's face. She deflects, turning an accusatory eye to Cooper now, and hissing, "You _told_ her? Why the hell would you tell her?"

"She backed me into a corner, Vi, I had no choice," he defends, glancing back at Pete, who's following the interchange with growing irritation.

"_Violet_," he says again, a little louder. "What the hell is going on?"

Violet looks from Pete, to Cooper, back again, and then turns to face Cooper and says, "You need to go. I need to talk to Pete alone."

"Vi-"

"Just go, Cooper," she bites, and Cooper knows he's going to hear about this later. Goddamnit.

He pushes off the sofa and heads for the door, seeing red. Charlotte's going to answer for this.


	39. Chapter 39

Cooper comes barreling into her office, the door swinging behind him. Charlotte turns from her computer to look at him; she knew this was coming.

"You told Pete?" he hollers at her.

"It was an accident," she says, trying to keep her voice even. He may be flyin' off the handle about this — she expected that — but she's gonna do her damnedest not to feed it. "And no, I didn't."

"You didn't?" he challenges, and he's almost vibrating with fury now. "You didn't tell him?"

"No, I didn't. I slipped, Cooper. I told him somethin' I shouldn't have, but I didn't tell him she was pregnant."

He's on the far side of her desk now, hands rooted on the tabletop, glowering down at her. Charlotte leans back in her chair to give herself a little breathing room, steepling her fingers in front of her.

"What exactly did you say, Charlotte?"

"I was a stress case. He wanted to know why. I was bitchin' about you, said you were talkin' about movin' in with Violet, and then I caught myself, and stopped talkin'. Pete wanted to know why the hell you'd be doin' that, I said you said she was goin' through somethin', and if he wanted to know, he needed to talk to her, because I wasn't pissin' you off again by tellin' him."

"Well, I'm pissed," he points out, needlessly.

"Yeah, I noticed."

"You shouldn't have said anything."

"I know. I'm sorry. It slipped." He takes a breath to say somethin' else, but she heads him off: "But Violet shoulda already told him. And Sheldon. That's not my problem, that's hers."

"Charlotte-"

"How would you feel if I hadn't told you I was pregnant?" she challenges, and he scowls. She knows damned well that if she had kept the pregnancy from him, he'd have held it against her. Been angry, and vindictive, and rude about it.

"She was going to tell them, when she was ready," he says, neatly evading her question. He doesn't really have a leg to stand on when it comes to Violet's moral high ground in this, and he knows it. Good. She uses that to her advantage, pressing him further.

"You can't honestly think she was right in keepin' this from them, Cooper."

"I'm not saying she was right, but it's a sensitive situation—"

"You were furious with me," Charlotte reminds. "We were barely speakin'. You think that wasn't a sensitive situation? But I told you as soon as I found out—"

"We're not talking about you, Charlotte!" Cooper interrupts, a good deal louder than she'd like, considerin' these walls aren't exactly soundproof. "Or, okay, yes, we are, but we're not talking about you being pregnant. We're talking about you opening your mouth when you shouldn't."

Charlotte glares hard at him. He sure as hell has no leg to stand on when it comes to this: "Because Lord knows you've never done that."

"Oh, come on."

"Tellin' Violet I was pregnant? Or, hell, that we were sleepin' together in the first place? I asked you to keep both those things to yourself, and you didn't. I specifically asked you not to tell her, and you did. And then she told all the rest of your friends. Now, I'm sorry that Violet's not grown enough to handle her business, and I really am sorry that I said somethin' to Pete, but I don't think you get to be this angry with me about it. If Violet wants to be mad, let her be, but do not make this about us."

"It is about us!" he shoots back, pushing off her desk and pacing a step before whirling back to her and saying, "That wasn't your business to tell. Maybe I told Violet a few things you asked me not to, but they were _my_ things, they involved me. This didn't involve you."

Oh, bullshit. "It involved me as soon as you as tried to get my blessin' to move in with her."

He shakes his head, runs his hand through his hair, and blows out a breath."Okay, you know what?" He looks at her again. "You're clearly not going to admit that you were wrong here—"

"I already have!" she points out, and now her voice is rising, too, but she can't help it. "I even apologized! All I'm askin' is that you not punish me for this like it's somethin' I did to hurt you."

"Isn't it?"

"No!" Is he really this thick-headed? Does she really have to spell it out for him? "_I_ was hurt, or have your forgotten about your whole I'm-gonna-move-in-with-another-woman plan? And I don't have a Violet to run to every time we have a fight. I was upset, and I made a mistake. But I didn't do it to cause you pain."

"Well, you did."

"Good!" It's ugly, and spiteful, and out of her mouth before she can stop it. She watches his face go darker as hers melts into something a little less hateful. Damnit. She should _not _have said that. "I didn't mean that," she says apologetically, but Cooper just scoffs and shakes his head.

"Yeah, you did."

"No," she insists. "I didn't. I'm just… This is hard for me! Okay? Bein' pregnant, by myself," her voice shakes a little and it fills her with a seething self-hatred she can't manage to tamp down. Must her traitorous hormones kick up the waterworks every damned time she gets even a little upset? "And I am by myself, no matter how much you spend the night. No matter how much time we spend together, you don't know what it's like to feel this way. My hormones are all outta whack, I've spent the last two months just tryin' to stay awake—"

"Yeah, I get it!" he cuts her off, apparently in no mood to hear her honestly tell him how she feels. "You're pregnant. It sucks. You've told me. I get it."

"No, you don't get it!" And she's definitely hollering now, and on her feet, her chair spinning out behind her from the speed with which she stands. "That's my goddamned point, Cooper. You don't get it. You can't get it. You're not the one who's been taken over some temperamental, weepy, can't-eat-a-damned-thing, fallin'-asleep-on-your-feet parasite. I hate being pregnant! I _hate_ it! I hate every goddamned minute, and now you want to go be there for _Violet_. Not me; _Violet_!"

"I tried to be there for you; you pushed me away," he accuses, digging his index finger into the surface of her desk. "So don't make this all about me, and what you think I've done wrong."

"Right, because you're perfect, and _everything I do is wrong._" She bites every word off, sharp and accusatory, and then her chin quivers again, her throat closing up against a tight knot of emotion, and the first of the tears slip out. Damnit!

"No, not everything, just this. This, and the secret-keeping, and the lying-"

"Okay, I get it!" she yells. "You've made your goddamned point!" Her voice breaks, humiliatingly, and she yanks her chair back into place and sits again, settling her elbows on the desk, her face into her hands. She takes a deep breath to fight the sob that's rising up in her, but she can't quite keep it down. Her shoulders shake once, then she inhales hard again, lifts her face up from her hands and straightens. She is _not_ going to fall apart over this. She's just not.

"Charlotte…" He's gone sympathetic now that she's all teary. Not sympathetic enough to cover the mad, but enough to stop yellin' at her.

And while she doesn't want him hollerin', she doesn't want a single damned drop of his pity either, so she growls, "Don't. Don't go all nice just because your stupid baby makes me—" She waves a hand toward her face, voice full of disgust when she finishes, "Like this."

He doesn't say anything else, just stands there while she reins herself in.

Charlotte avoids his eyes, lookin' at the sofa, the desk, her computer. Anywhere but at him, until she's got this under control. The only sound in the room is Cooper's quickened breathing, and the tension is almost unbearable.

This is a damned mess. They've been back together a whole two weeks, and already everything's in shambles again.

Finally, she asks, "Are we breakin' up again?"

"No," Cooper says, surprising her, and she lets out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. "But this can't keep happening. I have to be able to trust you, and I can't do that right now. Not when things like this happen."

"I messed up," she tells him again, her voice softer, a bit more penitent. "Okay, I'm sorry. How many more times do you wanna hear it, Cooper? Cuz I'm gettin' sick of sayin' it." That waver in her voice is back, and Charlotte just wants to throw something. This is _unfair._ She can't even have a damned argument properly.

He just looks at her for second, then takes a breath and says, "Y'know what? I don't want fight about this anymore. Let's just… let it go."

Well that's a new reaction from him. Not unwelcome, but she knows he's only doin' it because she's cryin'. And _that _is unwelcome. Still, she'll use it to her advantage today, if only to get out of more tears.

"Can you do that?" she asks, because lettin' things go isn't always his forte. Not when he feels strongly about somethin'. "I mean, really do that. Because I'd love to."

"Yeah." He shoves his hands into his front pockets, shakes his head a little, like he's trying to convince himself of what he's saying. "Yeah, let's…. Let's just let it go. I don't want to fight with you anymore."

He's not looking at her, focusing somewhere above her and to her right. She has a feeling that letting this go doesn't mean everything's peachy again.

She tries to smooth it over a little with another, "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, me too," he mutters, and then he takes a step back, another. "I've gotta get back upstairs."

He's bailing, and she's not sure if she wants to call him back or let him go, so all she says is "Cooper…"

"We're fine," he tells her, holding up a hand and shaking his head. Charlotte's not sure she believes him. "Don't. We're fine. I just… I don't want to talk about this anymore. And you owe Violet an apology."

And then he's turning and heading for the door, and all Charlotte can do is watch him leave. Once he's gone, she drops her head into her hands again, scrubs them over her face and blows out a long, slow breath.

That could've gone worse. But not by much.


	40. Chapter 40

Sam steps into Cooper's office, shutting the door behind him. "What the hell is going on in this place today? Pete's glowering, you and Violet yelling at each other in the hallway-"

"I wasn't yelling," Cooper points out. Violet had cornered him in the hallway and read him the riot act for betraying her trust, for putting her in such a bad position, for taking all of this out of her hands and putting them in _Charlotte's, _of all people. He hadn't done much to defend himself — she'd been right. He should never have opened his mouth in the first place. Then, she'd headed downstairs to break the news to Sheldon.

"Fine, you were being yelled _at._ Still. What's up?"

Cooper makes a face, and a noncommittal sound. He can't be the blabbermouth about this again. "I can't. I'm already in trouble."

"Oh, you did this?" Sam asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Technically Charlotte did," he says, biting her name off sharply. He's still not sure whether to believe her whole it-just-slipped-out excuse, but at the same time, he hates to see her cry. So he's stuck being pissed and guilty at the same time, and it's miserable. "But I'm the one who told her, and I'm the one who pissed her off in the first place, so I guess at the end of the day it's my fault."

"Man, that woman is trouble," Sam tells him. "I get that you love her and all that, but…" He looks like he's not quite sure whether to say what he's thinking, and then he finishes with, "She is not the person I'd choose to have a kid with, I'll tell you that."

"We didn't choose this," Cooper reminds, sighing and settling back into his seat. "And she's not that bad, when you get to know her. I mean, she's temperamental, and stubborn, has no respect for other people's business, and you're better off trying to squeeze water from a rock than trying to get her to open up and talk to you, but… I love her," he grimaces. "When she's great, she's amazing, and… I love her. And I made her cry, and I feel like crap about it, but she kinda des-"

"Wait, wait — you made _Charlotte King_ cry?" Sam questions, disbelieving. "Damn. What'd you do? Drop a house on her sister?"

Cooper makes a face at him. "Not funny. She has feelings, y'know. And I yelled at her, about this whole thing with Violet, and I was _right_, but she's pregnant, and she cries now when she gets upset, and then she gets upset that she's crying, and then she gets upset that she's pregnant, and then I end up feeling like crap for making her upset in the first place."

"Ah. Uh huh." Sam nods knowingly. "I remember those days. When Naomi was pregnant with Maya, man, there were days I couldn't do anything right. I left the toast on too long once, and she cried. It's rough."

"Yeah. And you're right that Charlotte's tough most of the time, so when she _does_ cry…" He sighs, leans back in his chair and slumps down a little. "I can't be mad at her anymore. I want to be, and I am, deep down, y'know, I'm still so pissed that she put Violet in such a crappy position, but… I can't look her in the face when she's all teary-eyed and keep yelling at her. Not without feeling like a jerk, anyway. And this whole thing… I should've known better. Her dad just died, she's still upset about that, I know she is, and… I thought I was doing the right thing, I thought it'd be okay, but… it's not. I hurt Charlotte's feelings, I broke Violet's trust, and… I am the bad guy here. I am the douche today. I am Cooper, King of Doucheville."

"Alright, now you're just gettin' pathetic," Sam cuts him off, holding up a hand. "The problem you're having is that you're too wrapped up in your women. You need guy time. Time with the guys, and some beers, and some sports on the TV at the bar. And some attractive women that we will smile at, and talk pleasantly to, but not touch — because we have our own women to go home to."

Cooper smirks, and nods. It doesn't sound like a bad plan, to be honest. Maybe the estrogen cloud he's been surrounded by the last few days really is part of the problem."I could definitely go for that."

"Okay. Yes. We are doing this." Sam rubs his hands together gleefully, clearly pleased with his new plan. "Tonight. You, me, Pete—"

"Not Pete," Cooper insists. "Not Pete, trust me. Not today. You and me. The two of us. We'll go out, we'll have drinks, we'll watch some sports, and then we'll go home."

"Alright," Sam agrees with a nod. "I like this plan. This is a good plan."

The intercom buzzes — Cooper's next patient is here — so they agree to meet up at the end of the day and head out. Cooper still feels that combination of guilt and resentment that's been fueling him since he left Charlotte's office, but there's a light at the end of this day, and that's something.


	41. Chapter 41

Cooper's not speakin' to her. Correction: he's barely speakin', to her. It's been thirty-six hours, give or take, since she spilled the beans to Pete that Violet had somethin' worth tellin', thirty-odd hours since Cooper came stormin' into her office to tell her off for doin' it, and he's been givin' her the cold shoulder ever since. He texted her once, askin' how she's feelin' but Charlotte knows better than to think that's about her. He's just checkin' up on the baby. She shared a perfectly civil elevator ride with him this afternoon, but civil isn't what she wants from him. He's her boyfriend, for God's sake. She wants resolution, wants him to get the hell over this already. Wants out of this phase of forced politeness and careful avoidance. Still, she's not gonna dwell on it. She's gonna handle it the best way she knows how: retail therapy.

Of course, it'd be better if she was hittin' up the Nordstrom shoe department, but today's shoppin' trip is less self-indulgence, more necessity. She's standin' outside a maternity store, nursin' the end of a Pure Caramel Ice Blended. It's hardly worth it without the coffee, but she's tryin' to close her eyes and imagine the bitter wonder of espresso on her tongue, cuttin' the sweetness of the drink. God, she can't wait 'till she can have coffee again.

Shuttin' her eyes also shields her from the sight of pregnant mannequins - of blouses and dresses hugging bulging plastic bellies. She's not quite ready to face the reality of what's comin' for her, but it's definitely comin' and comin' fast. She's almost out of pants that will button at all, much less without makin' her feel like she's bein' squeezed until she pops. She needs somethin' a bit more... forgiving.

A loud slurp and gulp of air let her know she's reached the end of her drink, and she sighs heavily and pitches it into the nearby trash can. Then she steels herself and heads into the store.

The salesgirl who greets her is way too cheery, givin' her a hundred watt smile and eager hello as soon as she's walked through the damned door. Charlotte looks her up and down, then greets her cautiously. "Hello..."

The girl tilts her head slightly, eyes Charlotte for a second, then says, "Too much?"

"Little bit."

The girl relaxes visibly then, her smile going wry and sympathetic. "Sorry. Babies are a joyous occasion," she explains. "They want us to be, y'know, joyful."

"My pants don't fit. What's joyous about that?" Charlotte asks, suddenly liking this girl a whole lot more. She appreciates honesty, and when the girl laughs and shakes her head, she thinks this may not be a total exercise in torture after all.

"Nothing if you ask me. First time mom?"

"Mmhmm," Charlotte confirms. "And all I need is somethin' that'll keep me from stranglin' this kid with my waistband. Please tell me there's somethin' before those high-waisted terrors I keep seein' online."

The girl laughs again and says, "There definitely is, although you might stop bad mouthing those once you start feeling like there's a bowling ball strapped to your belly."

"Oh, God, please don't talk to me about that. I'm tryin' to live in denial a little longer."

"Alright," the girl agrees, before telling her, "Follow me," and heading a little further into the store. "My name is Carly, by the way. I get commission, so if you can remember it, that'd be great."

Now it's Charlotte's turn to laugh. Again, honesty. It's refreshing. "Get me outta here with somethin' that won't scream to the world I'm knocked up and fashionless, and I promise I will."

"Deal," Carly tells her, before adding, "We'll start with this." She hands her a circle of stretchy white fabric. "It's a belly band. You can keep wearing everything you already have - just leave them unbuttoned and put this over it. It'll smooth out the waistband, hide your fly, and it's stretchy enough to hold your pants up and give you some support. Wear it doubled-over for now, and then unfold it as you grow. And these," She points to a rack nearby, "Have lace edging on the bottom. Looks like the bottom of a camisole, and comes in enough colors to match pretty much everything."

Charlotte's heard enough. "I'm sold. Gimme fifty of 'em."

Carly laughs and reminds her, "Commission. I'll give you every one we have in stock."

Charlotte smirks, then amends, "Black, nude, white, and grey. Two each. Lacy and non."

Carly's brows raise slightly. "Oh, I like you. Let me grab you a shopping bag. And then we'll work on filling it. In the meantime—" She jerks her thumb at a display on the far wall. "Designer jeans. Go peruse, I'll meet you there."

"Yes, ma'am," she murmurs, heading for the wall of denim. She checks the labels and is pleasantly surprised. She had no idea so many high-end labels made maternity wear. True Religion, William Rast, Citizens of Humanity… There are several styles she's eyeing by the time Carly returns with the shopping bag, but she has a small problem: "Okay, so, explain the sizin' to me. Do I have to do some kind of crazy pregnancy conversion?"

Carly reaches for the pair Charlotte's holding up and flips the stretchier belly support over to see the label. "At this point, no. Just go by the sizing in parenthesis here—" She points. "If you get huge, you might want to go up a size. How far along are you, by the way?"

"Thirteen weeks, four days."

"So you've got a ways to go," Carly surmises. "As much as I'd love every cent of your commission, you might not want to go crazy today. Depending on how you carry, you might want a different size later."

"Alright… Well, let's get to it, then."

Thirty minutes later, Carly has two more shopping bags, and she's standing outside the changing rooms as Charlotte tries on a skirt and blouse. She steps out, admires herself in the three-way mirror. Carly pipes up with, "That top will fit a little better as you fill it out more. I mean, it's good now — neat and professional, and all that — but it will really look right when you've got more than a bump."

Charlotte nods, smooths the slightly baggy material over her belly. "I'm not wild about it," she admits.

"Then throw it back," Carly advises with a little shrug. "You can always come back."

Charlotte smirks. Considerin' the massive price tag she's already racked up, she's sure her coming back would be more than welcome.

She studies herself in the mirror again, frowning, then comes to a decision: she's keeping the skirt, but ditching the top. She ducks back into to the changing room, and switches to the dress she came in, strolling out with the few things she's keeping from this batch, and saying, "Alright, I think that's it for clothes. Right?"

Carly peruses the bags. "You've got two pairs of jeans, four of dress pants, two dresses, this makes three skirts… Three blouses, that sweater, and the loungewear. I'd say you've got all your bases covered."

"Alright, then." Charlotte takes a deep breath, then lets it out. She's startin' to feel the sneaking tendrils of exhaustion creeping in, and she has to pee. She's just about ready to be done here, but there's one more thing she needs: "Talk to me about underwear. I'm spillin' out all over the place in this bra."

"Sexy or sensible?"

"I can't have both?"

"Hey, you're buying," Carly shrugs, hoisting the shopping bags and leading Charlotte out of the changing room to a section filled with racks of bras and panties. Nursing bras, sleep bras, lacy demi bras... "Get one of these," she orders, tossing something nude into the bag. Charlotte scoops it out, reads the label. It's a sleep bra that boasts making a great transition to a nighttime nursing bra. Charlotte grabs two more, shoving them into her bag and then heading for the lacy stuff.

Twenty minutes later, they're at the cash wrap with an additional three new bras (two of which she can actually consider sexy), a couple sets of panties, and a disgusting amount of clothing designed for rapidly-expanding torsos. Carly takes her fifteen minute break and helps Charlotte carry the bags to her car, her eyes going wide when Charlotte shuts her trunk, then fishes out a hundred dollar tip, two business cards, and a pen.

"Don't get fired," Charlotte orders. "When I come back, I want you here."

Carly scoffs a little, disbelieving, and nods. "I do too." She stuffs the cash into her pocket, and takes the pen Charlotte pushes at her.

She has Carly write her cell number on the back of one of the business cards so she can call for her schedule the next time she wants to come in, then takes the pen and card back, slipping them into her purse. Carly heads back in, and Charlotte eases into her car. She may have gone a little overboard today, but damnit, if she has to deal with all this baby crap, she's at least gonna look good doin' it.


	42. Chapter 42

"So," Charlotte says to him on Thursday morning. "How do I look?"

She's just strolled into his office in neat grey slacks and a deep blue top, a little bit of grey lace peeking out under the hem. It's the first time he's seen her out of a dress during work hours since she came back from Alabama, and he can see why: the curve of her belly is small, but undeniable without the grace of loose-fitting fabric. It looks like she's done trying to hide it.

"Pregnant," he tells her and she rolls her eyes.

"Gee, thanks."

Pete smirks, then amends, "You look good."

She hops up onto the massage table, asking him, "Did you know that if you actually go to the maternity store, they'll sell you things you can wear with your regular clothes?"

"You went shopping," he states the obvious, and she nods.

"Mmhmm." She smirks, then asks, "Can you keep a secret?"

For someone who's fighting with her boyfriend, she sure is chipper this morning. It's sort of infectious, to be honest. In fact, he finds himself smiling as he answers, "Sure."

She doesn't say anything, just lifts the hem of her top up, up, revealing the snug, grey fabric of her camisole. And then a few inches further until the skin of her torso is peeking out at him — it's not a camisole at all. Just a stretchy strip of fabric that wraps all the way around her. She gets this glint in her eyes, then, and shares, "I can wear my favorite pants again."

It's the little things, Pete thinks, chuckling at her. "Does this mean you're embracing the baby bump?"

"God no." That smile falls to a sneer. "Just got tired of wearing dresses — or at least not havin' the option of pants. And Cooper's not talkin' to me, so I figured I deserved a little shopping spree. I might've impulse bought a few hundred dollars worth of clothes, some of which won't fit me properly for weeks."

Pete chuckles, shaking his head, then noting, "He's pissed you told me about Violet."

"Oh, yeah," she confirms, and he can see her light starting to dim now. She's more upset about this than she's letting on.

"I'm not," he replies. She should at least get to have someone on her side, right? "Violet should've had the guts to do it herself, whether she thought I wanted kids or not."

Charlotte nods slowly, then cocks her head a little to the side, and asks, "Do you?"

Pete reaches for his blood pressure cuff and admits, "I have no idea. "

Charlotte chuckles, then holds out her hand — not for the cuff, but for a handshake. "Welcome to the Reluctant Parents Club. We meet on the first and third Never of every month, on account of we're still tryin' to pretend this isn't happenin' to us."

"It might not be," Pete points out, wrapping the cuff around her arm and adjusting the velcro. "Not for me, anyway."

"Would that really be a bad thing?"

"I don't know." He puts the stethoscope into his ears, then sets the end over her pulse, inflating the cuff as he says, "I convinced myself kids weren't in the cards for me, but I don't think that means I don't really want them." The conversation pauses for minute while he listens, counts. Then he pulls the stethoscope out of his ears and releases the pressure as he continues, "I guess if it's mine… I'd probably be happy to be a dad. And you're happy, too, by the way," he points out, the loud scraping of velcro sounding in the room as he frees her arm. Her hand settles on her belly as she frowns at what he's saying to her. "You might bitch about how bad you feel, and say you're trying to pretend it's not happening, but I don't think that's true. I think you want this more than you like to admit."

She looks suddenly self-conscious, glancing down at her knees for a second. When she lifts her gaze back to his, there's something incredibly sad in her eyes, and she tells him softly, "I just wish it wasn't happenin' _now_. That's all."

Her dad, he thinks. His relationship with his own parents wasn't great, but he can imagine that losing a parent while you're trying to become one might be hard. And it's a rare moment of openness from her, so he feels compelled to offer, "If you want to talk about it…"

"I don't," she tells him firmly, snapping back into her usual self, and straightening her spine.

Still, he know she's not talking to Cooper about it — he's been bitching about that for weeks — and he's pretty sure there's no one else offering her an ear, so he adds, "Because you can, if you—"

"Pete," she cuts him off again. "No. I'm sick of cryin', and I've had a really crappy week, so let's just… get this over with, so I can get on with my day."

She's resolved, and he's okay with that — it's not really his business anyway.

So he just nods, and tells her, "Lie down."

She obeys, wordlessly, settling into the table with a sigh. They don't talk today. No words of distraction to keep her from feeling the needles he taps into her skin. Instead, she just shuts her eyes, and breathes steadily, quietly. Pete finds himself wishing there was something he could do to make her feel better, but he knows her well enough by now to know the best thing he can do is give her time, and quiet. So he goes about his work quickly, giving her shoulder a little squeeze to let her know that he's finished, and then he spends the rest of her session at his desk, looking over patient charts. It's become routine now, these morning sessions. She rests, he works; it's peaceful. Nice.

When it's time for her to go, she sits, smoothes her hands over her favorite grey slacks, and gives him a little smile. He know she's not just talking about the acupuncture when she she tells him, "Thank you."

And then she's gone.


	43. Chapter 43

**_Author's Note: _**_This chapter contains some dialogue that was lifted directly from the show. I take no credit for such dialogue - all credit for any lines featured on the show goes to ABC/Disney/Shonda Rhimes. It's their world, I just like to play in it._

* * *

><p>An hour or so later, the guys are in the kitchen. Cooper is at the island, coffee cup in hand. Pete sits next to him, peeling a banana. Sam rounds behind him saying, "Wait, wait, I thought you and Charlotte were back together."<p>

"We were," Cooper tells him, as Sam settles into the middle chair with a bowl of grapes. "We are. Sort of."

"He's still pissed she told me about Violet," Pete supplies, cutting the banana into his cereal bowl. So clearly he and Charlotte had a discussion about this during their morning session. Great.

"Little bit," Cooper mutters, his tone making it clear it's actually quite a lot. "We're still together, but… It's complicated."

"Well," Sam begins. "You know what I like about Sonya?"

"She's not complicated?" Pete suggests. "Or pregnant?"

"She says exactly what she thinks," Sam answers.

"Oh, be careful what you wish for," Cooper mutters, and Sam looks at him, but before he can say anything, a little girl appears at the door with her crutches. It's Patty, one of his patients since birth. One of his favorites. He was expecting to see her today, but not yet and not here.

"Dr. Freedman?" she asks, all polite and sweet. This kid always has the best manners.

Cooper gets up, and walks to her, saying, "Patty, I thought I was meeting you at the hospital later."

"Mom said I should come here before surgery," she tells him, and it strikes him as odd. That wasn't the plan…

"Oh, where is she?" He's almost certain he told Lori and George to meet him at the hospital this afternoon. If they had any questions, they'd have called him…

"She went to go get money, and she's not back yet." She lowers her voice a little to tell him, "I have to go to the bathroom, _bad_."

Cooper drops his voice too, pointing as he tells her, "It's right down the hall, to your left."

"Thanks," she answers back, readying herself to leave. Then, "Oh, I forgot. Mom said I should give you this." She hands him a folded sheet of paper, and he bops her lightly on the head with it, then opens it and heads back to his chair as she leaves for the bathroom.

His stomach drops at the words on the page, and he looks up, surprised. Pete catches his look and asks, "What? What's wrong?"

"Her parents. Uh— They dumped her." He passes the note to Sam, who reads it with a frown, Pete looking over his shoulder. "They're not coming back."

**.:.**

He spends most of the day trying to track down Patty's parents, and when he does, he sort of wishes he hadn't. They tell him that she's too expensive, that it's too hard, that they're done. Done. With their kid. Done with their daughter. Done with this perfect, sweet little girl. He can't fathom it, can't possibly imagine how someone could just give up on their child. He's seen it before, but this is just… it makes him sick to his stomach. He knew these people. They were good people.

And the worst part is, it's not even over. Far from it. The hardest part is the part he has to do now.

He's back at the practice, the elevator doors opening to reveal an empty waiting room. Empty except for the little girl on the couch, with her crutches and her bear.

He tries, and fails miserably, to be somewhat positive when he greets, "Hey, Patty."

She must be able to see right through him, because she turns those innocent eyes on him and says, "They're not coming, are they?," hugging Felix the Bear more tightly to her.

He sighs, walks to her, moves her backpack off the couch and sits down next to her. "I'm sorry," he tells her, shaking his head. "I know it's not what you want to hear. It's not what I wanna be telling you. But it doesn't mean that they don't love you. It just means that right now, they can't be here."

He's breaking her heart and she's breaking his, cutting it to little pieces with the sad eyes and the tears, and then she practically barrels forward into him for a hug, and all Cooper can do is hold onto her. He has to fix this for her, as much as he can anyway.

And if it means he has to break the silence with Charlotte, well, he'll just have to man up and do it.

He finds her downstairs, grabbing files at the front desk. "Hey," he greets her, keeping it brusque. "I need a favor."

She eyes him warily, then nods him toward her office. "What's the favor?"

"I have a little girl who's scheduled to have surgery at St. Ambrose today. I need it to happen."

As they pass through the office door, she questions, "The problem is?"

"Her parents signed all the pre-op forms and all's good to go, they then abandoned her."

They pause by the desk long enough for her to tell him, "That's what DCFS is for. You call, they take the kid." She rounds the desk, leans against the bookshelf behind it, arms crossed.

Is she really going to make him work for this?

"And then she never gets the surgery," he explains. "She was in an accident at five. She limps, she has back problems, she crushed her knee, it needs to be reconstructed. It's considered elective surgery, DCFS won't pay for it."

"The parents are required to sign their child in. Period," Charlotte insists, much to his irritation. "Risk management requires it."

"And if we just assume that they did?"

She pushes off the bookshelf, leans one hand on the back of her chair, the other on her hip. "Cooper, I can't just—"

"Come on, Charlotte, what if it was our—"

"Don't," she sighs, exhausted. "Don't to that. Don't use the what-if-it-was-our-kid argument. I'm tabling that damned argument. You can't use it every time you want to sway my opinion on one of your patients." She crosses her arms again, and adds, "And besides, if it was our kid, this problem wouldn't exist. We'd never walk."

"Yeah, that's for sure," Cooper mutters. "You wouldn't believe — they've just given up on — It's awful. Our baby isn't even born yet, and I already can't imagine dumping my kid the way they are. And this kid, she's such a good kid. She's sweet, she's funny, she's great, and what happened to her isn't her fault. And they are done with her. That's what they told me. They're done."

Charlotte's nod in response is slow and sympathetic, but she still says, "You know I can't do this, Coop…"

He blows out a frustrated breath. "You can, actually. You can. Nobody's gonna get hurt, a little girl is gonna be helped, and, God, Charlotte, I'll even pay for it if you need me to, but this needs to happen. She's been through enough." She's thinking about it, he can tell by the look on her face, so he drives what he hopes is the final nail into this coffin: "And you owe me."

Her scowl tightens, her nostrils flare, and she tosses her hair a little as she tips her chin up. "Not fair, Cooper."

"But true."

"It was a _mistake_."

"Charlotte, please." He's losing his patience, fast. "There is a girl who's been sitting alone in my office for eight hours, waiting for a surgery to change her life. A surgery that she doesn't get unless we skip a step in the process, and just let things progress they way they're supposed to. So just do this. Make it happen. Please. "

Charlotte sighs, heavily, and finally concedes: "I'll see what I can do."

**.:.**

What she does is come through for him. Patty gets her surgery, and Cooper's there when she wakes up. He's there, and Violet's there, and the social worker from DCFS is there. Patty's heartbroken, and just wants to go home, and she's got the big, fat tears again, and then he's the one who's heartbroken. Especially when she asks why she can't just stay with him. God, he'd give anything. He's known her since she was born, and now she's parentless, and alone, going into the system, and the best he can offer her is that he'll still be her doctor. A promise he's not even sure he can keep, because in the end, it'll be up to her new family.

He leaves the room with a heavy heart, and when he spies Charlotte in the hallway, all he wants to do is lean into her. It's a startling reaction, considering he's been seething with anger for the last two days. But he's hurting now, aching, and raw, so he goes to her.

She's talking to someone, but the conversation ends a few steps before he gets there. Charlotte takes a breath as he walks up to her, bracing for a verbal onslaught, no doubt. He doesn't give it to her.

Instead he tells her, "Thanks," and he means it. "Patty's—"

"I heard."

"Called Social Services, soon as she went under, and the police."

She nods, says, "I know."

A pair of doctors pass by, in conversation, and Cooper suddenly wants a little more privacy. He cups Charlotte by the arm, leading her a little further down the hallway into a quiet corner. She goes, willingly, which surprises him a little. He presses his hand to the wall next to her shoulder, and keeps his voice low enough to be just between them when he says, "It's been a terrible day, Charlotte. I looked that girl's parents in the eye, and they do not care. And the surgery's good, the surgery's gonna help. But at the end of the day, that girl doesn't have parents anymore. And the only think I can think of that might make me feel any better is being with you. I know being with you would make me feel better." She's watching him carefully, guardedly. "I know things aren't… great between us right now, but I love you, and I love our baby, and I need to be with you tonight. So… truce, okay? I won't fight with you, you don't fight with me, we'll just—"

Her finger lands on his lips, stopping him. And then she smiles. It's soft, and sad, and she gives him a little nod. "Okay. Truce."

"Thank you," he sighs, and his hands go to her hips, trying to draw her in close. She says his name, her hand moving down to press against his chest and stop him. "Charlotte, there is nobody in this hallway. Just give me a second here."

She glances around, checking to make sure the hallway is indeed empty, then nods, and steps into him. Her arms wrap around him, and he lets his finish circling her, and just breathes for a second. He knows she's not going to give him much time, so he buries his face in her hair, inhales the familiar smell of her conditioner, and then she's pulling back again, dropping her arms, and straightening her coat.

Cooper lets her go.

"I have more work to do," she tells him, her voice soft and sympathetic, and God, he's missed her the last few days. Missed the sound of her voice when it's this way, kind and private, for him. "But if you want to come sit in my office, or if you want to just meet me at my place…"

"I'll stay," he tells her, lifting one finger to slide through her bangs. "I just want to look at you for a while. I've missed you."

Her lips curve despite her best intentions, and she fights against them as she tells him, "I've missed you too." A beat, and then she adds, "Y'know, I should be makin' you—"

"Truce," he interrupts, before she can say something that sets them off again.

Charlotte's head bobs slowly, and she presses her lips together for a second, then says, "Right." She scratches the side of her neck with her free hand, and tells him, "I need to deliver these charts. I'll meet you back at my office in ten minutes?"

Cooper nods his agreement, shoving his hands into his front pockets.

It turns out, she doesn't make it there for nearly an hour — she's dealing with Archer Montgomery's transfer to Seattle, then has to stop in and talk to the family of a patient in oncology. It's two hours after that before they head home, and they end up at her place simply because it's closer.

They don't talk much. Instead, they peel out of their clothes, and crawl into bed together. He falls asleep with his hand cupped against the curve of her belly. He may not be able to make things right for every patient, he may have had a miserable day, but he has this. He has them. Charlotte, and the baby.

Tonight, it's comfort enough.


	44. Chapter 44

They start the next morning with sex. It wasn't really her intention, but she woke early, her bladder callin' her out of bed, and when she came back, he was just layin' there. All asleep and peaceful in her bed. You'd think by now she'd be used to the all the fightin', to the time apart, and she is, but it still makes her ache for him. So when she sees him there, all she wants is to kiss him. Just once. Maybe twice.

She crawls back under the covers and indulges herself. It takes three kisses to wake him, and then he's kissing her back, tangling his fingers into her hair. Before too long he's on top of her, and she lets him stay that way the whole time, even though she's itchin' to be in control, as usual. Penance for her crime.

Afterwards they're layin' there, his body pressing hers into the mattress, his fingertips playing with the ends of her hair. He's lookin' at her like he loves her, really loves her, and she wonders if this means she's really forgiven now. And then he ducks his head, brushes his nose along hers, and she leans into him. They kiss slowly, lazily, and when he breaks, she asks him cautiously, "Are we okay now?"

Cooper lets out a little sigh, shifting on his elbows until there's more room between their faces. Not a good sign. Neither is the torn look on his face, or how long it's takin' him to answer. "I'm not, uh… thrilled… with some things," he manages, finally.

Charlotte's mouth tightens, her brows quirking. Guess this isn't over yet, after all.

She doesn't say anything, and a minute later, he adds, "I just don't know what's going on it your head lately. It makes this hard."

Her exhale is deep and despondent, and Charlotte focuses hard on a spot near his shoulder. On the one hand, that's a fair statement. She barely knows what's goin' on in her head half the time these days. How can he be expected to keep up? But at the same time, she doesn't want to have to open her mouth and share her every damned feeling with him. A girl's entitled to some privacy, and it shouldn't take her sayin' anything for him to know she'd be hurt by him wantin' to live with someone else. That should just be a given.

And her tellin' Pete, that was just a slip-up. Just a mistake. He should be able to forgive a simple mistake.

"But yeah," he murmurs, another minute later, and it feels like they're talkin' in slow mo. Long breaks between words, and none from her yet. Not really. She looks back to his face when he says, "We're okay now. I forgive you."

Well, that's that, then. She can let go of this knot in her stomach. She nods, but still doesn't say anything. If she does, she might point out that he's not the only one who needs to do some forgiving - he was a jerk about the whole thing, too. But she's not interested in rocking this new, tentative peace, so she keeps her mouth shut. Absorbs his words and swallows her own.

Cooper's fingertips find her temple, tracing over the skin there, his touch so light it tickles. "You gonna say anything, or are you just… gonna lay there and keep not talking to me?" It's a genuine question, nothing bitter about it, and she wants to say somethin', but there's nothin' safe she can really think of to tell him. She's forgiven, they're okay, it's done. "It's unnerving when you don't talk, you know," he says to her. "I can usually count on you to say whatever you're thinking, but lately… What's going on, Char? Talk to me."

What's going on? She's pregnant. Her jobs are stressful, and she's just now barely gettin' back the energy it takes to do them without wantin' to fall over dead at the end of the day. She missed her yoga class last night to be with him. Her neurologist — her good score to make up for losin' Wyatt Lockhart and all his promise — is in Seattle gettin' his brain cut open. The hospital board is puttin' pressure on her to get more surgeries on the board, which means she needs more surgeons — better surgeons. Her staff at Pacific is startin' to look at her with the same guarded contempt as her hospital staff. Everyone's startin' to look at her like she's pregnant. Her pelvis is achy, and she got a nosebleed yesterday.

Her father is dead. Her momma's still deep in the bottle, and Duke's not farin' much better. The family lawyer faxed her some papers yesterday to get the ball rollin' on the release of her inheritance, and she's startin' to dread the sight of those extra zeros in her bank account because it means he's really gone, and it's all over.

What's goin' on? Plenty.

Cooper's still swirling his finger over her temple, across her cheekbone, and back. He's waiting for an answer.

It takes her a while, but she finally manages to offer up, "I miss my dad. He's never gonna see this baby, and… I miss him."

His face goes all sympathetic and he presses his lips to hers, lingering over her sweetly. Charlotte's eyes prick with tears and she turns her head away, breaking contact. "Don't."

Cooper lets out a sigh. "Charlotte…"

"This is why I don't want — When you're here, and you're like this, all sweet and…" She sighs, shakes her head. "It makes me wanna cry."

"So cry."

"I can't."

"Yes, you can," he assures, brushing her bangs back and dropping to a whisper when he tells her again, "Yes, you can."

Charlotte just shakes her head again. He doesn't get it.

"Come on, Char, I'm your boyfriend, I'm the father of your child, I love you, you can grieve with me. I've seen you cry. It's okay."

"No," she insists, wriggling beneath him, trying to shift him off of her. "It's not. Move — you're squishin' me."

He doesn't want to, she can tell. He hesitates for a minute, then sighs and shifts until he's next to her instead of on top of her, drawing her in close, and saying again, "You can trust me with this."

"It's not that," she tells him. "I don't have clean, polite little cries over this. Or at least, I know better than to think I will if you're here, holdin' me, tellin' me it's okay to lose my mind. It'll be the airplane all over again. And I don't have time for that. I can't keep breakin' down. There's too much goin' on. So keepin' you at a distance… I needed to do that. For me. But I liked that you kept tryin'. Knowin' you cared, that you were there, it helped. Even if I wasn't takin' you up on it. But then—" She scoffs lightly. "Violet got pregnant, and now you wanna go stay with her, and —"

"I'm not staying with Violet," he tells her, fingers going to her her hair again, tucking it behind her ear, this thumb tracing the shell lightly. "I already told you that. Not if it hurts you, and not if you need me."

She nods, appeased by the reassurance, and he presses another soft kiss to her lips.

And then she goes from placid to pissed when he adds, "But I meant what I said — you owe her an apology."

"The hell I do," Charlotte sneers, pulling her head back to put a few inches between them.

"You put her in a bad position, Charlotte."

"She put herself in a bad position," Charlotte defends. "I'm not the one who got her knocked up, I'm not the one who doesn't know who the daddy is, and I'm not the one who decided to keep it from 'em once I found out."

"No, you're the one who decided to tell Pete—"

"I _didn't_ tell Pete. I left that to her. And what happened to forgiveness?"

"I'm not talking about you and me, now, I'm talking about you and Violet," he argues, and she fights the urge to roll her eyes. There is no_ her and Violet_. She isn't beholden to her for anything. "She should've been able to tell him when she was ready, not before. Same with Sheldon, who she had to tell because Pete knew. And, look, I've been trying to get her to tell them since I found out, but she wasn't ready yet. She wasn't even sure whether she was keeping the baby or not, Charlotte."

If he's tryin' to guilt her, he's not doin' a very good job.

"Y'know, for all your gettin' pissed at me for keepin' secrets, you sure are understandin' when Violet does it."

"Violet's not my girlfriend," he points out, and does he even hear the hypocrisy there? Is it possible that he really doesn't get it?

"No, but she was involved with both of those men, which by your standards means they had a right to know. I'm not apologizin' to her, and that's that." She pushes away, sits up, and tells him, "I gotta get ready for work."

Cooper flops onto his back, letting out a heavy, frustrated sigh.

She ignores it, and heads for the shower.


	45. Chapter 45

Charlotte's heart is racing when she walks into Oceanside Wellness on Monday afternoon. It's been racing for the last thirty minutes, to be honest, which probably isn't very good for the baby. But she's nervous, now — really nervous — nervous enough to be here, in this practice, lookin' for help.

She spies Cooper leading a patient and her parents back to an exam room just after she steps off the elevator — perfect. She doesn't want him around for this. Things are still not the greatest between them, and he'll hover, and fret, and make a big to-do about all this, and right now she needs someone a little more reassuring.

As soon as he's out of sight, she beelines for Addison's office. The door is open, so she strolls right in, and shuts it behind her. "Montgomery," she greets, and she'd hoped it would come out cheery, but it just sounds tense. "Can I ask ya a favor?" That, at least, sounds a little more friendly.

"What's up?" Addison asks, setting down her pen, and giving Charlotte her full, albeit skeptical, attention.

"I need an ultrasound," Charlotte tells her, her fingers gripping tightly on the strap of her purse. "I just came from my OB, and she found… somethin'. And you're the best, so I want a second opinion."

"Okay," Addison agrees, and Charlotte's glad she didn't make her work for it. She's not entirely thrilled with the way Addison is suddenly overly sympathetic, though. "I can do that."

"Don't coddle me, Montgomery. It's unnerving. Treat me like a doctor, not a patient."

If it's barky and bossy, she doesn't care. She's nervous, and she hates being nervous, and damnit she'd hoped she'd get the King genes when it came to her uterus.

Addison's demeanor changes immediately, and she slips from sympathetic to a little annoyed. Whatever. That's better for Charlotte anyway. "Fine. What'd your doctor find?"

Charlotte shakes her head. "I'm not gonna tell you. You won't miss it, and I want to make sure you don't miss anything else on account of you're lookin' for this. I want to know there's nothin' my doctor missed."

One perfect brow raises slightly, and Addison says, "Sounds like you don't have a lot of confidence in your OB."

Charlotte bristles a little, shifting her shoulders and defending, "She's great. Very competent. But she's not as good as you. So just do the ultrasound and tell me what you think."

Minutes later, they're in an exam room, and Charlotte has her dress hiked up high enough to reveal her belly. "You locked that door, right?"

"Yes, for the third time, I locked it," Addison tells her, a little exasperated as she reaches for the ultrasound gel.

"I don't need anyone at your practice to see me in my skivvies."

"You could've changed into a gown," Addison points out, squeezing a bit of the gel onto Charlotte's belly. It's cold — why is it always so cold? — and Charlotte can't help but jump a little.

"I don't have time for that," she replies tersely. "I need to get back to my practice."

Addison doesn't respond, just moves the wand over Charlotte's belly, observing from different angles. And then she stops, and frowns. "Ah."

Charlotte lets out a disappointed sigh. It's not that she expected Addison to find anything different than her own OB, she just… she needs this to be okay. "Yeah."

"The placenta is-"

"Yeah."

"You're how far along? 13 weeks?"

"Fourteen," Charlotte corrects, and Addison shifts the wand again.

"Well, I wouldn't worry too much about it — see right there?" She points to the screen, and Charlotte nods. "That's the cervix there, and that's the placenta here, and spreading there over the cervix. It's definitely not where it should be, but it's not complete previa. Partial previa like this usually resolves itself by the third trimester. In ninety percent of cases where the placenta is close to or partially obstructing the cervix, the placenta gets pulled away as the uterus grows, and everything ends up fine."

"It won't," Charlotte mutters, and she knows it's defeatist, but she just doesn't have that kind of luck.

"Charlotte-"

"No, Addison. It won't. My family, we have bad luck with babies. If anyone's gonna end up in that ten percent, it's me."

"Charlotte, look at me."

She does, though she's sure as hell not convinced.

"Have you been bleeding?"

Charlotte shakes her head.

"Cramping?"

Again, no.

"Have you felt anything out of the ordinary aside from the morning sickness that seems to be over?"

Negative.

"Then, this isn't a crisis. It's something you watch. You'll have another ultrasound between 18 and 20 weeks, and your doctor will monitor the progression, and if it hasn't moved then, you'll assess your symptoms and go from there. But even at that stage, there's massive room for improvement before you're full term. And even if it doesn't resolve itself by well into your third trimester, you're looking at bed rest and a c-section, which, while not ideal, aren't the end of the world."

Maybe not for most people, Charlotte thinks, but for her? For a recovering addict any kind of surgery that will require the use of narcotics is strictly off the table. She can't afford to have a c-section. She just can't.

"I don't want a c-section," she tells Addison. "What can I do to avoid it?"

"What did your doctor tell you?"

"To wait it out," Charlotte tells her. "But I'm askin' _you_ now. You're Addison Montgomery, double-board certified, blah blah blah; I want your best advice as to how to handle this. I need the best."

"Right now?" Addison questions. "Relax. I mean it. Don't make this into more than it is."

"It's a potentially serious complication," Charlotte points out, and Addison nods, then wipes the ultrasound gel off Charlotte's belly.

"The key word there is _potentially_. I'm not saying this couldn't be a very bad thing, I'm just saying it could — and most likely will — end up being something that doesn't impede you from having a normal pregnancy, and a normal birth. But stressing out like this isn't helpful; not for you, or for the baby. You need to take a deep breath, and relax. And try to take it easy. You're a doctor, you have two jobs, you're busy, I get it. But make sure you take time to sit and rest, make sure you eat, and sleep, and take care of yourself. Your body's working hard right now. Help it."

"That's it?"

Double board certified neonatalogist and the best she has to offer is "wait, and relax"?

"That's it," Addison confirms.

Charlotte takes a deep breath, and then nods. "Okay. Relax. Got it."

"Good," Addison mutters, turning her back on Charlotte as she finishes cleaning up.

Charlotte pushes herself off the exam table and adjusts her dress. "So if this is nothin' serious, do I need to tell Cooper?"

"Yes," Addison answers immediately. "If there's any chance keeping it to yourself will cause a fight, yes. He's obnoxious when he's mad at you."

Charlotte snorts a little laugh. "Yeah, you don't have to tell me that."

She should leave, get back to work, but… she made a promise to Cooper, and she's pretty sure it requires her to ask another favor of Addison Montgomery.

Addison looks up at her, and says, "We're all done here. You can go."

"Yeah, I…" She inhales deeply, lets it out in a rush and just gets it over with, "I promised Cooper that if anything went wrong, I'd ask if you would take me on as a patient. Since, y'know, you're the best. And you're here, you're convenient, a check-up wouldn't take much time out of my day, it'd really be-"

"Sure," Addison agrees, cutting her off graciously and not making her ramble or plead. Thank God. "On one condition: you have to listen to me. I'll try to keep you on your feet as long as I can, but if this doesn't get better, and I start telling you that you have to make some changes, I don't want to have to fight you on them."

Charlotte's not sure she likes the sound of that — she's not a big fan of conditions — but she's desperate to get this baby into the world healthy, and without havin' to go under a knife, so she agrees, "Fine. Deal."

"Okay, then. Have Dell set you up with an 18 week appointment on your way out, and have your OB forward your medical records to our office."

Jesus, she's really doin' this, isn't she? Gettin' even further in bed with Oceanside Wellness. First Pete, now Addison; she keeps it up this way, she might as well just move upstairs. And then kill herself.

She reminds herself that she's a mother now, and she'll endure a little Oceanside arrogance for the sake of her kid. "Great. Will do. Do me a favor and don't mention this to Cooper? I want it to come from me."

Addison nods her agreement, says, "You were never here," and then Charlotte is ducking out the exam room door and sneaking toward the stairs. She makes it all the way back to her office, and plunks down into her chair.

_Breathe_, she reminds herself, pressing a hand over her heart. It's beginning to slow. _Just breathe._


	46. Chapter 46

It's the end of the day, and Cooper has finally finished with his last patient and all of his paperwork. He's shutting down his computer, about to head out and grab burgers to take to Violet's, when Charlotte walks in. Things haven't quite smoothed over between them yet — they've been trying, but little arguments keep bubbling up — and every time he sees her he feels an uncomfortable combination of irritation and something he can't put a word to other than "longing." It's incredibly frustrating, and, as a result, he's spent the day avoiding her as much as he can without making her feel completely shut out.

But she's here now, poking her head around his door, and greeting him with a "hey," that's just wounded enough to let him know she's well aware of his avoidance. She doesn't wait for him to greet her in kind, just waltzes right in and strolls up to his desk. "I have somethin' for you," she tells him, holding out her hand, and it's only then that he realizes she's clutching several small sheets of paper.

His heart skips a beat as he takes them from her: they're ultrasound photos. New ones. And they're not blobby anymore — there's a baby there. A definite baby, with a head and a round torso and teeny, tiny little hands.

"Oh… oh, wow," he murmurs, awestruck, as he flips through them. There's one full-on of the face (which looks a little alien and weird, but holy crap, that's his kid), and another from an angle that he can't quite make out. He ends up back at the first one, the one with the perfect profile. Forehead, nose, chin, teeny tiny fingers… He can't believe he's looking at something he made — something _they_ made. "Look at it's little nose, and… wow! That's a _baby_."

Charlotte laughs a little at that, telling him, "Has been the whole time, Coop."

"Oh, come on," he tells her, looking up at her, finally. "You can't tell me that seeing this doesn't make it more real."

"It's been pretty real for me since I started gettin' sick every day," she reminds him, but she peers forward, and runs a finger down the curve of its little head before adding, "But yeah, it is pretty amazing."

"We made that," Cooper marvels quietly, turning his attention back to the photo in his hand. "It has tiny little hands, and - are those its knees?"

Charlotte squints, and points right where he was looking. "There?"

"Yeah."

"Mmhmm."

"Wow…" He knows it's not very eloquent, but he's seeing his child — really seeing it — for the first time, and he's speechless. "When did you get these?"

"This mornin'. I was due for a check-up, and you got me all paranoid about bein' vigilant about potential problems, so I asked for an ultrasound."

"Well, I'm glad to hear I got through to you," he says, not bothering to look up at her, because he knows she's going to be rolling her eyes at him, but he doesn't care. All he cares about is her taking care of herself and this baby. "Did you get to hear the heartbeat?"

"Yeah."

He's suddenly insanely jealous. "You should've told me; I'd have come with you."

"I don't need my hand held, Cooper." He's about to tell her that isn't why he wanted to go, that she should know by now that he wants to be included in everything, but she interrupts before he can get the words out. "Can we talk?" she asks him, and he can tell from the tentativeness in her voice that this isn't a conversation he's going to want to have.

Cooper exhales heavily, the magic of the moment beginning to fizzle. He has a feeling he knows what she wants to talk about, so he tells her, "You don't have to apologize to Violet. It was a slip, I should never have told you in the first place anyway, it's not like you guys are friends — although I wish you were — and… you show up here with these pictures, and I can't be mad at you, so I'll let it go. We don't need to talk about it."

She clears her throat a little and tells him, "While I appreciate that, it's not what we need to talk about. Come sit on the sofa with me?"

There's something in the tone of her voice that makes him nervous — it's too kind all of a sudden. And then she reaches over and slides the middle photo from the stack in his hand before heading to the sofa. Cooper swallows hard and follows, his stomach suddenly doing somersaults.

Something is wrong.

"Char, what is it?" he asks as they settle onto the sofa.

"It's not a big deal," she says, but he's not sure whether or not to believe her. "My OB said she wanted to keep an eye on it, and I had Addison take a look this afternoon, and she said the same thing: it's not something that's a problem — yet. But I promised you I'd tell you if somethin' came up, so I'm tellin' you."

"Charlotte, what's _wrong_?" he asks, looking down at the grainy face in the photo still clutched in his hand. How can something be wrong with such a perfect little baby?

"See this?" she says, pointing to the blurry ultrasound in her own hand.

"What am I looking at?" he asks, scooting closer, until the length of his thigh is pressed against hers, the photo held between them.

"There," she points again. "That's the placenta, see? And that… is my cervix."

Cooper's stomach drops sharply. "You have placenta previa."

"Yeah." Charlotte sets the photo down on her lap, and turns slightly, so she can lift a hand to his head, trailing fingers through his hair. "But look at me." He does. "It's only partial, the placenta should move as I get bigger, and there's a 90 percent chance it'll fix itself. And I know you're freakin' out right now, I can see it all over your face — I was freakin' out too. But I've been assured by two very competent doctors today that this isn't somethin' we need to worry about yet. We just have to keep an eye on it, and if it doesn't improve… then we can worry. But right now I'm fine, and the baby's fine, and we're gonna stay that way. Okay?"

She's looking him dead in the eyes, willing him to see that she's serious, and there's something about the determination in her voice that soothes him a little. He wants to say that he believes her, but all he can think is that _something we have to watch_ means _something that could go very wrong_. "I want you to start seeing Addison full time," he tells her. "I know you like your OB, but-"

"I know. I am. I already talked to Addison about it today," she assures him, cupping the back of his neck and squeezing gently. "I have another appointment with her in a few weeks. Until then, unless I start bleedin', it's business as usual. There is _nothin'_ to worry about yet. I promise. But if you don't believe me, you can ask her."

"I believe you," he tells her, although he fully intends to corner Addison tomorrow and ask her every question he can think of and then some. Still, he forces himself to start breathing, and sets the ultrasound photos on her lap before pressing his hand to her belly. "And thank you."

"I promised you," she reminds, and he's a little ashamed to admit he didn't take much stock in that promise when she made it, knowing how stubborn she is. He figured he'd have to twist her arm into seeing Addison, even if there were complications. "She's the best; if somethin' could be wrong, I want the best."

He's about to say something, but his phone rings from the desk, startling them both.

"Gimme a sec," he excuses himself, heading for the desk and checking the caller ID. It's Violet. He presses TALK and then says, "Hey, I'll be there soon. I was just talking to Charlotte."

Violet's voice comes over the line: "Okay, well, hurry up. I need animal fries."

Cooper chuckles at her, and shakes his head. "I don't think you'll fall over and die if you have to wait a few more minutes, Vi."

"I won't, no, but this baby might starve to death waiting for you."

Cooper rolls his eyes, grinning, and says, "Yeah, I'm sure. I'm leaving now."

"Tell Cruella I hope the door hits her in the ass on the way out." He may be ready to let the whole Pete thing go, but Violet certainly isn't.

"Vi, be nice," he scolds.

"Yeah, yeah. See you when you get here."

"Bye," he dismisses, hanging up and turning back to Charlotte… who is not pleased.

She's got her arms crossed now, her face sour and sharp. "Spendin' the night at Violet's?"

"I told her I'd get dinner," he explains. He hates when she does this. He shouldn't have to feel guilty for spending time with his best friend. "But I'll come by your place after if you want."

"I'll be asleep," she says tersely.

"I won't be that late," he assures, returning to the couch and reaching for her hand.

She pulls it away from him, handing him back the ultrasound photos before rising to her feet. Her voice is clipped and bitter when she tells him, "I've had a long day. I have some work to finish up, then I'm goin' home, takin' a bath, and goin' to bed. Enjoy your date."

She starts heading for the door, and he reaches for her hand again but misses, sighing, "Charlotte…"

"Goodnight, Cooper," she dismisses, and there's nothing he can do but watch her walk away.


	47. Chapter 47

It's 10pm, and Charlotte is still wide awake, curled on her sofa with a blanket over her lap and the latest issue of Southern Living. It makes her miss home. She has the sudden urge to move, to uproot herself and move back. Get some gorgeous old house and renovate it like the ones she's readin' about. Build herself a back garden with a grill, and let this little sea monkey in her belly run around a proper yard in a part of the country that doesn't burn and shake and fall over on a semi-regular basis.

But Alabama has the tornadoes, and the wet, stifling heat waves, and the bein' in the middle of nowhere. Atlanta could be nice, aside from the hurricanes, and… Why's she even thinkin' about this? Cooper would never move, and while she's irritated with him right now, she's nowhere near the kind of rage she'd need to have to take their kid and leave.

She sighs, sets down the magazine, and reaches for the ultrasound photos sittin' on the coffee table in front of her. She may have brushed it off when he said it, but Cooper was right: seein' that little face makes everything so much more real. And that traitorous strip of placenta is terrifyin'. She wants to believe Addison, wants to believe she has nothin' to worry about, that everything will work itself out… but what if it doesn't?

Her hand goes to her belly, cupping her bump, and she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. _Relax_, she tells herself. _You've gotta remember to relax…_

But clearly she's failing at that, because when her doorbell rings, she jumps a mile, the photo fluttering from her hand to the floor. "Jesus," she curses softly, before scowling in the direction of the door.

It's Cooper. It has to be. Nobody else would drop in on her, and certainly not this late.

Unfortunately for him, she doesn't feel like being second choice, so she's not movin' a damned muscle. He can just stand out there and stew.

Okay, she might move a muscle or two — but just enough to pick up the ultrasound photo and put it back on the table, then flip her magazine back to the page she'd been reading.

All's silent for a few minutes, and then she hears the jingle and scrape of his keys in the lock, and rolls her eyes.

"Y'know, I didn't give you that key so you could break in any time you want," she calls out to him, as he shuts the door and walks into the living room. Her voice drops to a mutter when she adds, "In fact, I didn't give it to you at all…"

"You said you'd be asleep," he excuses, setting his keys down on the coffee table as he walks around and flops down next to her.

Charlotte just stares at him for a minute, but he doesn't look at her. He has his head tipped back, eyes shut. She wonders if he's really beat or if he's just not playin' her game tonight. Fine. She'll bite first this time.

"What're you doin' here, Cooper?"

He sucks in a breath and lifts his head up, shifting a little until he's facing her. "I told you I'd stop by."

"I told you not to."

"I want to talk."

"Didn't you just tell me you thought I'd be asleep?"

"No, I said _you_ said you'd be asleep; I had a feeling you wouldn't be." He stops, takes another breath, like he's shifting gears, tryin' to steer them away from an argument. And then he tells her again, "I want to talk to you."

Charlotte rolls her eyes and props her elbow against the back of the sofa, leans her head onto her fist and says, "About what?"

"I think we should move in together."

She makes a face. "What?"

"I don't want to have to choose. I don't want _you_ to feel like I'm choosing Violet over you, and I know you feel that way. But she's my best friend, Char, that's not going anywhere. And I don't want to have to feel guilty if I want to spend time with her. Especially right now."

Charlotte wonders if he realizes how selfish he sounds — he wants to move in with her so she'll stop bitchin' about him spendin' time with Violet? And that's supposed to convince her? But she wants to see how long he'll go with this, so she doesn't say anything, just presses her mouth into a tight line, lifts her brows, lets him talk.

"And I think if we're going to be a family, we should be a family. Especially if things get hard, if there are complications — and I don't want us to be able to just bail on each other at a moment's notice when things are tense. I want us to be together, really together. In a home — in our home. I want to be there for this pregnancy; I don't want to have to hunt you down to see you during the day. I want us to be _together_." He pauses for a second, then says, "You're just gonna sit there and look at me, aren't you?"

"I'm just seein' how deep you'll dig, that's all."

"What?" His brows draw together, his mouth pulling into this pouty scowl. He really has no idea, does he?

"You want to move in together so you don't have to feel guilty about spendin' time with Violet, because you don't want us to quit when we have problems, and because you think I'm too hard to pin down?"

His face falls a little bit, his head tilting slightly, and she can tell none of that ever occurred to him in quite that way when he says carefully, "That's not what I said."

"That's exactly what you said!"

"Well, it's not what I meant," he defends. "I didn't mean it to sound that way, I just mean… we have some problems, and I think this would help us fix them."

"Gee, my heart's all a'flutter," she drawls, shaking her head and looking back at the magazine in her lap.

"Okay, can you not ignore me right now, please?"

Charlotte feels a flash of temper and slaps the magazine shut, lifting her eyes back to Cooper and glaring. "What do you want me to say, Cooper?"

"I want you to say yes! I want you to say that you want to live with me, that you want me here—"

"I've wanted to live with you since before you dumped me! That was the plan, remember? That's what we were talkin' about. Us livin' together."

"Yeah, and while we were talking about it, you were lying to me, and—"

"I never lied."

"—Building a practice underneath my nose," he continues over her, before he gets this look like she's just said somethin' completely crazyheaded. "What do you mean you never lied?"

"I never told you a lie. I just… didn't tell you somethin' that was true. That's all."

"Same thing, Charlotte," he tells her, and she knows this fight is just gonna run in circles like it always does. She was stupid to use the whole we-were-movin'-in-together thing in the first place; shoulda known it would lead here.

"Okay, let's not talk about that anymore—"

"Because you're wrong?"

"Because it won't get us anywhere! And…" She lets out a breath, shakes her head, "The point I want _tryin'_ to make was that, yes, I want to live with you, but I sure as hell don't want to move in together if those are your reasons. And how can we live together if we fight like this? I _don't_ want to be second choice, and this feels like… you puttin' me first to put me second. And I don't think we should live together just 'cause we're havin' a kid."

"It's not just about the baby." She gives him a look that says she doesn't believe him, so he assures her, "It's _not_. I miss you. I love you, okay? Why won't you just believe me when I say that? I'm crazy about you, and I miss you when I don't see you. And when I say I don't want to have to choose between you and Violet, it doesn't mean I want to see Violet more, it means I want to see _you_. I don't want to have to spend the afternoon trying to decide if I'm going to spend tonight with my girlfriend or my best friend. I want to know that every day I get to see you. I want to spend _every_ night with you, even when I see her. I want to come home to you. I want you to _be_ my home. That's what I want. I've never felt this way about anyone; I just want to see you. All the time, even when I'm mad at you, I just want to see you at the end of the day. Even if you're asleep when I get home, even if we're fighting… I don't care. I want you every day. Every day."

Damn him and his stupid words.

She scowls and smoothes the blanket over her lap, and he just sits there with that look on his face. That look that has so much damned love in it. She can't stand it. It weakens her resolve every time.

Finally, she says, "That should've been your lead-in."

Cooper cracks a smile, and shrugs. "Yeah, I kinda screwed that one, huh?"

"Yeah." She waits a beat, then, "Are you sure this isn't just about the kid? You're not just thinkin' you need to keep an eye on me now that you know there's a problem?"

"No, I've been thinking about this for a while — since we had that fight about me staying with Violet."

"This isn't gonna fix our problems. Might even make some of 'em worse."

"Maybe. But maybe it won't, maybe it'll help. I think this is right for us. So… will you move in with me?" he tries again, full of sincerity

"No."

Cooper sighs heavily. "Oh come on, Charlotte—"

"But," she starts, speakin' over him and then pausin' until he shuts up. "We can start lookin' at houses. Neither of our places is big enough for three. We're gonna have to get somethin' bigger if we're gonna live together."

He smiles at that — grins, even — one of those big, ecstatic Cooper Freedman grins. Then he leans in and hugs her tight, and she indulges herself, burying her nose into the collar of his shirt and taking a deep whiff of him. Detergent, and cologne, and Cooper. She loves that smell.

After a second, he pulls back, holds her by the shoulders and says, "That was mean. Teasing me like that."

Charlotte just laughs, and shrugs. "You're gonna be livin' with me now. You'll have to get used to it."


	48. Chapter 48

Charlotte's not a heavy drinker - she enjoys a martini or two from time to time, and can appreciate a good seven-and-seven or gin and tonic - but growin' up with an alcoholic has made her wary of excess in that particular area, and bein' pregnant has forced her into complete sobriety. Which is a shame, because right now, on this phone call, she'd love nothing more than to be poundin' 'em back.

She's just informed William White that she's had yet another well-paid, promising doctor turn in his resignation under her watch. All in all, the practice is doing alright, but she can't keep losin' doctors like this, and she knows it.

"Well, I am sorry to hear that, Dr. King. He was great for the practice. What reason did he give for resigning?"

"Family issues. It turns out sharin' space with little sister wasn't, uh… all it was cracked up to be," she tells William, trying to keep her voice professional when inside she's seething. At least Lockhart left chasin' money — that she can respect — she but she just lost Archer Montgomery because he'd been chasin' tail, and wanted out before he got caught up in the drama he'd set in motion. "He said he thought it strained their relationship, and he'd be better off back on the East Coast."

"That's a shame. I do hope you'll be finding a replacement for him very soon."

"I'm already lookin' into it," she assures. As polite as William White is being, Charlotte knows the translation: this turnover rate is unacceptable, and she needs to find someone who will bring in good money and stick around. She wishes Archer was here so she could wring his smug, arrogant, philandering neck. Which is a shame, because she actually liked him, quite a lot. He had a sense of humor she could appreciate, a work ethic she liked even more, and he flirted shamelessly with her, which maybe shouldn't be a mark in the plus column, but when you're havin' a baby with a man who makes you want to tear your hair out half the time, sometimes it's nice to know there are other guys out there who'd be willing to take you for a spin - even if you'd never take them up on it. Plus, he was in on her little secret, and had made a habit of sneakin' her pastries from the breakfast bar, figuring a grown man scarfing down three croissants raised fewer red flags than a svelte, figure-watching blonde doing the same.

And of course that little secret is the other reason she's on this phone call - and the other reason she's sweatin' metaphorical bullets. She's almost 15 weeks pregnant now, and there's no hiding it. There's an obvious curve to her belly; she's not fooling anyone anymore. She can't delay this phone call any longer — and now, thanks to her complications, it's going to be an even worse conversation than she had initially imagined.

"There's something else I'd like to discuss with you, if you have a few more minutes," she tells him, knowing his schedule is tight — he's in New York now, flying to Europe late tonight, where he'll be for the next two months. It has to be now; she's waited as long as she possibly can.

"Of course."

"I, um… Well, I…" Great. Just great. Not only does she have to tell him this, but she apparently has to sound like a bumbling idiot while she does. Stupid. She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes and just spits it out: "I'm pregnant. About 15 weeks. I know when I took the job I said I had no plans to start a family in the next three years, and I meant it - I didn't - this isn't somethin' I saw comin'."

"I see," William tells her evenly. She can't read him, and she's not sure if she should be mortified that she just told her boss she's havin' a surprise baby or if it was a good, calculated move to save the ass of someone who signed a no-family clause when she took the job.

"I assure you it's not hamperin' my ability to do my job, and my intention was to work right up until delivery, and then take the minimum maternity leave, but… there are some complications. And I may need to take an earlier leave, depending on how things progress."

"I'm sorry to hear that," William tells her, and this time she thinks he means it, which is both nice and a little disconcerting. "Obviously, this isn't an ideal situation, for the practice, nor, it sounds, for you. And while we obviously can't — and won't — let you go simply on the basis of you being pregnant, Pacific Wellcare is a new venture, and it won't be helped by an extended length of time as a rudder-less ship."

"I understand," she tells him, a sinking feeling growing in her stomach. He's wrong, actually - they can fire her, for breach of contract, and they both know that. He's being polite, again, and it's killing her. "But I assure you, I can continue to do this job - I will do everything in my power to continue to guide this practice, even if I'm on leave."

"I appreciate your commitment to the job," he says, and Charlotte can already hear the _but _that's coming. "However, it's important to the company to have someone there in the office, so if you do end up needing an extended leave, we may have to consider finding a replacement for you - at least, for the length of your absence. You understand, of course."

"Yes," she confirms, trying for all the world not to sound as wretched as she feels. "Of course."

"I'm sorry, Charlotte - I have another call coming in that I have to take. Congratulations on your big news."

Charlotte almost laughs — congratulations? Really? He's just told her that he might have to give her job away, and now he's congratulating her? The absurdity of it is laughably painful. But she's a professional, damnit, so all she says is, "Thank you. Have a safe flight."

They say their goodbyes, and she slumps back in her chair, blows out a breath and blinks back the tears threatening to gather in her eyes. Despite all the calm, even tone, that phone call was a damned disaster. In one fell swoop, she managed to tell her employer that she lost another doctor and hand him an excuse to fire her for it. She might as well have written her own walking papers.

_Look on the bright side_, she tells herself, _At least this day can't get much worse._

And then her phone buzzes, and she picks it up to find a text message from Cooper, letting her know he's having dinner with Violet tonight and will probably crash there for the night.

Her heart twists sharply.

"Look at that," she mutters under her breath. "I was wrong."


	49. Chapter 49

The end of the day finds Pete at his desk, wrapping up the last of his paperwork and reviewing charts for the next day's appointments. At least, that's what he's supposed to be doing. What he's actually doing is stewing about Violet and the baby that may or may not be his. He's scowling at the chart in front of him, his pen tracing and retracing a line of text. A knock at the door startles him enough that his pen skitters to the side, leaving a sharp, black mark.

"Yeah?" he calls, looking up in time to see Charlotte poke her head around the door.

"Hi," she greets, with a smile that looks just a little forced.

"Hey." Her appearance is unexpected - they don't have an appointment today — but he waves her in anyway. "What's up?"

She steps inside just enough so that she can lean against the door itself, one hand wrapped around the edge. That forced smile slips into something more persuasive, and she asks him, "Do you have time to squeeze me in?"

"Now?"

"Yeah."

He was looking forward to a night of beer and ESPN, but another hour of work won't kill him, he supposes… "Sure, I can do that. What do you need?"

She waves her hand near her neck, grimaces a little and says, "I've been havin' this, uh…" And then her face falls slightly, and she bites her lip, shakes her head, and admits, "I need to bitch. That's what I need. I need to bitch to someone, and I don't really have a lot of… people. Not that you're my people, I just — God, cut me off before I make a total fool of myself."

Pete smirks, then laughs, and nods his head. She's sort of endearing when she's like this - uncomfortable and trying to be nice."We've spent two hours a week together for the last month and change. I can be your people. Bitch away."

"Really?" She takes a few more steps forward, stopping just short of the chair on the opposite side of his desk, somehow managing to look both hopeful and skeptical at the same time.

"Really," he assures, waving her into the chair. "Sit. Bitch."

She plunks down with a heavy sigh, then starts in with, "I had a really crappy day. It started out okay, but then Archer Montgomery quit on me, and I had to call my boss and let him know. It's the second doctor I've lost in as many months, which does not reflect well on me, to say the least. And then, I had to tell him I'm pregnant, because it's not exactly a secret anymore, and God forbid it get back to him some other way. And it wouldn't be such a bad thing, except I signed a statement when I took the job saying I had no plans to start a family in the next three years, so technically this baby is a breach of contract."

"Ouch," Pete winces, sympathetically.

"Yeah," Charlotte agrees. "Ouch. And it sounds like maybe I could've gotten away with it if I was just takin' the normal mandated maternity leave, but with the previa, I might have to leave early, and it was made pretty clear to me that I might not have a job to come back to if I do."

"Family planning clauses are unfair," Pete weighs in, capping his pen and setting it back on his desk. "I mean, what do they expect you to do? Abort?"

"They expected me to not get pregnant." She slouches a little in her chair, crosses her arms and mutters, "So did I." A little sigh, and then, "Cooper doesn't know about the no-baby clause. Not that it would matter if he did, it wouldn't change anything. I'm pro-choice and all, but I have enough Southern Baptist beaten into me to not quite be willin' to abort if I have the means to raise a kid. Besides, it's too late for that, and Cooper'd never go for it."

"You don't want to anyway," Pete tells her, and he knows it's true. He'd know it even if her hands hadn't gone to her belly while she was talking. Even if they weren't covering it protectively now. "You want this baby."

"I don't _not_ want this baby," she concedes, like she needs to put a little bit of distance between herself and actually wanting to be a parent. Pete just gives her a look, and, to his surprise, she caves, admitting, "Okay, I want this baby." Her fingers splay across her belly, then fall away as she adds, "But I want my job, too. I've worked hard for this job. Given up a lot of time, and worry, and sleep for it. Hell, if it weren't for this baby, I'd have had to give up Cooper for it."

He wants to point out that she's probably wrong about that one - Cooper's been stupid in love with her for months; he'd have come around eventually. But he doesn't. Instead, he asks, "Would it have been worth it? Giving up all that?"

His question gives her pause, and she mulls it over, her brow creasing, mouth screwing into a scowl. Finally, she shrugs and tells him, "I don't know. My work is… what stays." Pete has to fight the urge to smile at that - it's such a telling response. He doesn't know much about Charlotte's past, but the fact that she'd choose work over love because work is what sticks around — that's saying something. He knows her well enough by now to know that she wouldn't appreciate a reaction to it, though, so he keeps his face neutral and listens as she finishes with, "It's a constant. At least, I like it to be."

"Jobs aren't permanent, though," he reminds, lacing his fingers in front of himself. "You can lose a job just as easily as anything else."

One side of her mouth quirks up into a wry smile, and she says, "Little harder when you're the boss, though."

"Harder?" he questions. "Or just a bigger bruise to the ego when it does happen?"

She chuckles a little a that, raising her brows and nodding slowly. "Fair point." Her expression darkens slightly as she adds, "I guess we'll find out."

"Maybe they'll surprise you," Pete offers, although he knows as well as she does that it's not likely. Especially if she's losing doctors at this rate.

"Doubt it," she mutters, but then she takes a deep breath, and straightens her spine, lifts her chin with a new air of resolve and says, "I guess I'll just have to make myself invaluable. Hire some heavy-hitter, drum up a lot of business. Prove they were right in hirin' me, and that I'm worth waitin' on for a few months."

"Sounds like a plan. Although, could you do us a favor and not bury Oceanside while you're at it? Because I like having a job too."

She laughs at that, and he didn't exactly mean it as a joke, but he'll let her have it today. She looks like she could use a laugh. So he smirks back, and tells her, "I mean it. If nothing else, you need to keep Cooper in a job, right?"

"Yeah, yeah," she chuckles, rolling her eyes at him. "I won't strangle your practice to save mine. Then where would I go for my weekly massage? And I'd have to listen to Cooper whine about it all day — unless he ignored me entirely and bitched to Violet, as usual."

"Why do I get the feeling I'm looking at 'Rant, part 2?'" he asks.

She confirms his suspicions with a huff and a, "He's off with her tonight. Again." Her voice is acidic, bitter, her face drawing back into a scowl, deeper than before. "And I suppose I shouldn't mind all that much, because we're gonna be livin' together soon, and he's spent most of the week sleepin' at my place, but… I had a really shitty day, Pete. And then I got this text sayin' he's spendin' the night with her, and it just made my shitty day even worse."

"Have you ever considered — and I know you're going to have some colorful remark for this, but just hear me out — have you every considered calling him and telling him you need him tonight?"

Her scowl twists into something else - disgust, irritation. She shifts in her seat and scoffs, telling Pete, "I do not _need_ him."

"But you want him."

She jerks a shoulder, glares at him. "What's your point?"

"My point is, you're not the only one who has to listen to Cooper whine, and the thing he whines about the most when it comes to you is that you shut him out."

"Okay, y'know what-"

"No, hold on. Hear me out."

"Pete-"

"No. I can be stubborn, too. And I've listened to you bitch, so you're going to listen to me for a second."

She's glaring daggers at him, arms crossed tightly over her chest, fingers digging into her biceps. "Fine. You have a second."

"Do you honestly think that if you called him right now and told him you need him-" She opens her mouth to protest, so he corrects, "_Want him_ to come over tonight, he wouldn't do it?"

"Honestly?" she asks, tipping her chin up when he nods. "Yeah. I believe that."

Pete shakes his head at her, and wonders if these two will ever manage to get their act together. "You're wrong."

"I'm not."

"You are," he insists. "In fact, I'm so sure you're wrong that I'm going to bet you a hundred dollars that if you call, he'll come."

"A hundred dollars?" She quirks a brow, unfolds her arms, and shifts until she can prop her elbow on the chair back. She's all swagger, all amused doubt. "You're kidding, right?"

"I am dead serious. You never ask. It drives him crazy. You need him, but you don't ask, and then you get mad when he doesn't just know."

"I do not."

"Yeah, you do. Ask him. Let your guard down."

"I'm not weak."

"Asking for what you need isn't weak. It's strong. And besides, he only goes to Violet all the time because she makes him feel needed. They're so co-dependent it's a wonder they can even get dressed without each other sometimes, but… she makes him feel needed."

"I'm not gonna be one of those women. I'm not gonna be one of those attached-at-the-hip, can't-make-a-decision-without-her-man women. I am a strong, confident woman. I don't want to be anything else."

"Good. You shouldn't be. I'm just saying - open your mouth once in a while. "

For a few seconds she just looks at him, and then she reaches for her purse. "So you want me to tell him, what?"

"The truth."

"Uh huh," she mutters skeptically, unlocking her phone and dialing. She holds it up to her ear, listens to it ring, all the while looking like she thinks this is a ridiculous effort in futility, with just enough smugness to assure him she thinks she's going to win this one. She snaps to attention suddenly, eyes moving to the edge of his desk, then speaks into the phone: "Hey, it's me… Yeah, I know, I got your text… Mmhmm. Look, I, uh…" She glances at him, then looks away again. "I want you to come home tonight. To my place… I know…" She rolls her eyes again, hard, exhaling heavily and turning away slightly. "Cooper, this isn't about that, I just — I had a really crappy day, and I want to see you tonight… Nothin' happened, I—"

Pete clears his throat, drawing her attention back to him. When she looks up at him again, he gives her a look meant to remind her that the dare here was to be honest with him and see where it got her. "Don't lie," he mouths, and she makes a sour face.

Then, she rushes through it: "I told my boss I'm pregnant, and it might cost me my job… Yeah, actually they can… I know that, but — look, you're at Violet's right now, I don't want to talk about this over the phone, and frankly, it's none of her damned business, so are you comin' over or not?"

She's looking at the desk again, but then she perks up, looks at Pete and smiles. "Oh. Okay… No, I know, I know," She rolls her eyes again, but she's smiling as she says, "You can't leave right now, you promised Violet, blah, blah… I'll be up, just come over when you're done…. Yeah…" Her voice drops low when she adds, "Mmhmm, you, too. Bye."

She hangs up, looks at her phone for a second, then looks up at Pete.

He holds out his hand. "Hundred bucks. Pay up."

A grin splits her face, and she laughs, then reaches into her purse again.

"Will you take a check?"


	50. Chapter 50

"We have another appointment with the realtor tomorrow, to see that place in the Palisades. Don't forget." A minute passes in silence, then, "Cooper." Another beat. "Cooper!"

"Hmm?" He turns his head, looks up at her. They're sprawled on his bed, pillows piled behind her back to prop her up. Cooper's head is on her thighs, and he's bunched her nightshirt up so he can trace his fingers over the curve of her belly.

"Are you even listenin' to me?"

He blinks, and nods, and skims his fingers over her skin again. "Yeah, I, uh… No." No point in lying - she'll see right through him. He shifts from his side to his back, his head digging into her thigh as he moves. She winces and curses softly, and Cooper murmurs an apology, then sighs heavily. "Sorry. I'm distracted. I have this patient, Annie Bishop — I've told you about her, right?"

Charlotte frowns, then nods slowly. "Little girl? Cancer patient, right?"

"Yeah. Her surgery was today, and it was supposed to get rid of the cancer, give her a fighting chance, but… it didn't. Barnes couldn't get all of the tumor, so she's looking at more chemo, and another surgery, and she doesn't want it. She doesn't want any of this. She wants… to be done." He watches the ceiling as he talks, Charlotte's fingers swirling through his hair slowly, her nails scratching lightly over his scalp.

"Done, as in…?"

"As in she doesn't want any more treatment. She's twelve; she wants to surf, and hang out with her friends, and not be poked and prodded and pumped full of chemicals for the rest of her young life."

"Well, of course she doesn't. Nobody does, Coop, least of all the kids. She's young, she doesn't understand."

"Yeah, except… I think she might be right."

"Coop—"

"No, I think maybe… I don't know." He lets loose another heavy sigh, then turns his head toward her. "She's such a smart kid. And funny, and—"

"And you're attached." Charlotte tells him - it's not a guess, not a question. It's a statement somehow both sympathetic and a little bit judgmental. "You've known her for a long time, and you care about her, and you don't want to see her hurt, or unhappy."

"There something wrong with that?" he grumbles, and she shakes her head sadly, her look saying otherwise.

Now Charlotte's the one sighing, her fingers raking through his hair one more time. "I don't want to say you care too much, because it's good that you care. It's part of what makes you a good doctor, and I hope — I'm sure — it will make you a wonderful dad. But it wears on you." She twirls the ends of his hair, tugs lightly. "Sometimes I think it wears on you too much. It clouds your judgment, and then you're not a better doctor, Coop. You've gotta be objective—"

"I'll never be objective," he protests, shaking his head. "I'm not gonna be that kind of doctor, Char. That's not who I am. My patients matter to me — every single one. They're not just names on a chart. I can't think of them that way, and I don't want to."

She frowns down at him, shifts her jaw and runs her tongue over her teeth. But she doesn't say anything, and the silence stretches between them. And then, finally, she says, "So, tomorrow. Realtor. Palisades. That's what I was sayin' when you weren't listenin'."

Cooper blows out a breath and grimaces. "Does it have to be the Palisades? That's so far from here."

"But so close to where I live now," Charlotte points out. "And to the hospital, and both our practices."

"Yeah, but…" He knows it's going to start an argument, but he goes there anyway: "I promised Violet—"

"Oh, for God's sake," Charlotte mutters, with a roll of her eyes.

"Oh, come on, Charlotte!" He pushes himself up until he's sitting, and twists to look at her. "I promised. I told her I'd be there for her, and I need to be able to do that, regardless of where we live."

"Well, you've spent the first 16 weeks of this pregnancy livin' across town from the woman who's actually havin' your child, and you managed to make that commute just fine — when it mattered to you. I'm sure you'll manage the same for Violet."

"You're really not willing to compromise on this?"

"I'm really not," she tells him, crossing her arms tightly. "Palisades. Malibu. Santa Monica. That's where we're lookin'."

"Charlotte—"

"Okay, how about this," she says, stepping on whatever he was about to say to her. "If my previa gets worse, and I get stuck on bed rest, do you really want to have to drive all the way across town if there's some kind of emergency? Or would you rather have me be within twenty minutes of the hospital?"

She presses her lips together, lifts her brows. She's challenging him, but she's already won. She has a point there, and if he fights her on it, he'll look even worse than he does. So he sighs, and shifts until he can flop down face-first onto the pillow next to her.

"Fine," he mutters into the padding. "We can stay on the west side."

She makes a satisfied little noise and the bed shifts slightly as she wriggles and settles more comfortably into her pillows. "Good."

Cooper lets out a defeated sigh, figuring if he has to lose this battle, at least he can have a good pout about it.

But she has to go and ruin it.

She reaches over, and rubs her hand over his back once, her voice soft and sincere when she says, "I'm sorry about Annie."

Cooper turns his head, contorting until he can see her. "Thanks."

The smile she gives him is sad and sympathetic, before she says, "Why don't we get some sleep." It curves into something more smug as she adds, "Want you all bright-eyed-and-bushy-tailed when we see that house tomorrow."

Cooper grunts and flips his head back the other way.

Charlotte just laughs.


	51. Chapter 51

_**Author's Note: **__This chapter contains some dialogue that was lifted directly from the show. I take no credit for such dialogue - all credit for any lines featured on the show goes to ABC/Disney/Shonda Rhimes. It's their world, I just like to play in it._

* * *

><p>It's not even noon, and already they're bickering — though she has to admit she saw this one coming.<p>

"First earthquake, that house just tumbles right down that hill," Cooper tells her as they head down Palisades Drive.

"Being on the hill is what gives it those amazing ocean views," Charlotte reasons. They've just come from their meeting with the realtor, and she's in love with this house. Four bedrooms, four baths, a ridiculous amount of natural light, and the views. God, the views. Ocean vista out the back, mountains in the front.

Cooper, however, isn't sold.

"It's gonna have an even better view when it lands in the actual ocean," he argues, shifting his hands on the steering wheel.

"Don't be stupid, Cooper, it's too far back in the hills to fall into the ocean."

"Oh, so it'd just fall into another hill, that's what you're saying."

Charlotte lets out a frustrated sigh, her tone tight and irritated when she tells him carefully, "I'm sayin' it's not gonna fall." She shifts slightly in her seat; she has too pee, badly. Which isn't exactly anything new, but it's uncomfortable. She tells herself to ignore it, and keeps trying to sway Cooper to her side: "It's nice, it's the right size, it's affordable-"

"Affordable?" he scoffs. "It's a million and four, Charlotte. The downpayment alone is what?"

"'Bout $280,000."

"Yeah. We don't have that kind of money."

Charlotte blinks, turns her head toward him and frowns. "We don't?"

"I know I don't." A beat, and then he whips his head toward her, stealing glances at the road ahead of him as he asks, "Wait, do you?"

"Well, yeah. To be honest, I was thinkin' maybe we could just buy the house outright. It'd save on the interest from the mortgage."

"Buy it outright?" he questions, gobsmacked. He stutters a little as he asks her, "How much money do you _have?_"

"Liquid? About 300 grand, but I have fast access to two million or so, and I have investments, there's a property in Monroeville that's in my name; I could sell that." They've come to a stop sign, and Cooper doesn't seem to be in any big hurry to roll away from it. Which is good, she figures, since he's definitely watching her more than the road now, as she says, "It'd be a big hit initially, but my inheritance from Big Daddy should be comin' through any day now, and that's another two million, if you count stocks and property values, so really, it'd only be tight for a little while."

"A million in the bank is _tight_?" he questions, voice going higher, like his throat's closin' in on him.

"A little." Charlotte shifts uncomfortably in her seat, adjusting the strap over her shoulder and asking, "Why? How much do you have in the bank?"

A car rolls up behind them and honks, and Cooper jumps a little, then eases onto the gas, his attention back on the road. Or, she realizes, it's pointedly not on her, now, as he mutters, "I… don't really want to talk about that right now."

"Oh, come on. I just told you my finances; now you're gonna wimp out on yours?"

"You're worth _four million dollars_?" he asks, like it's so far-fetched that she'd be loaded. He's seen where she grew up, and they're both doctors. She doesn't get why this is such a big deal.

"Six, actually," she corrects. "Figurin' in everything - the bank, my investments, what I have comin'."

"Where did you get that kind of money?"

"I'm a doctor, Cooper."

"Yeah, exactly — you're a doctor. What happened to med school? Johns Hopkins isn't exactly cheap, and you did your undergrad at _Yale_."

"I had a lot of scholarships; Big Daddy paid for the rest. Plus, I have inheritance from three late grandparents, and Big Daddy started investin' for me when I was child. I have good financial planners." She squirms a little, looks sideways at him. "Is this a problem?"

"No," he tells her, in a way that clearly means _yes_. "No, I just… I didn't realize we were talking that kind of money."

"You're uncomfortable."

"My girlfriend's loaded! I wasn't really expecting the income disparity, that's all."

"Are you sure that's all?"

"Yes. That's all."

"Okay… Well, if buyin' outright bothers you, we can just put the $280,000 down, and—"

"Charlotte—" he cuts off, sighs, shakes his head, adjusts his grip on the wheel again. "I don't have a hundred and forty grand."

"Oh. Okay… How much do you have?"

He swallows, focuses hard on the road, but he she can tell he's doin' it just so he doesn't have to be lookin' at her. She has to force herself not to drop her jaw when he says, "Thirty-five grand. Give or take."

"Liquid?"

"Total. I mean, yes, but… everything I have is liquid."

"Cooper," she scolds.

His voice is sharp and irritated when he answers, "What?"

"You're a doctor."

"Pediatricians don't get paid that much, and—"

"Oh, please. You still make good money. How can you not have anything saved up?"

He opens his mouth, shuts it again, shifts uncomfortably, and then finally blurts out, "I bought this car! I bought this car, and the cars I had before it, and the big screen TV, and the PlayStation, and the X-Box, and I buy really nice Hanukkah presents for my parents, and Violet and I go on vacation every year, and I like nice things. And porn. I have bought lots and lots of porn."

"How could you possibly have spent _that_ much money on porn?"

"It adds up," he excuses, clipping each words. "Each site costs money, and it's a monthly fee, and then there's the DVDs, and the 'dating' sites cost money, you know that, and…"

She remembers his admission of still being on nearly a dozen of them after they started dating, and tries to calculate out how much those alone would cost him. It gives her enough of a headache that she doesn't even want to think about the rest.

"Well, you're gonna have to cancel a few subscriptions, Coop."

"That's not fair—"

"You're gonna be a father! We have a child to support. I think there's more important things to spend your money on than naked girls who aren't me."

That gives him pause, and she's suddenly wishing she hadn't phrased it quite like that. She wishes it even more when he asks, "You're jealous?"

"No." She is, a little, but she'd never admit that to him. "Not really. I'm just wonderin' where you think all the money to raise this kid is gonna come from. Child care, and private school, and extracurriculars; none of that's free. And so help me God, if you say I can pay for it now that you know I have money —"

"I'm not gonna say that," he insists. "I'm not saying that."

"You need to change the way you spend your money."

"Yeah, I know," he tells her, defensively.

"Now."

"I _know_, Charlotte. You've made that abundantly clear. Now can we draw this episode of Cut Cooper off at the Balls to a close, please?"

She slumps further into her seat, shaking her head. How can he be so irresponsible?

The car is filled with tense silence for a few minutes, before Cooper finally says, "I've never had to save for anything before, so I haven't. And I am broke. At least, in comparison to you. But I have something to save for now, and I know that, and I'll make the change."

Charlotte nods a little, but she's not sure he sees out the corner of his eye. "I'll take care of the down payment for the house."

"No, I don't want—"

"This is the house I want, Cooper. This one. Not another one. This one. And if I've gotta pay for the whole damned thing myself, I will."

"You're not paying for the house yourself, Charlotte. We need to find something that I can afford, too—"

"You can't afford anything, Cooper!" It's out of her mouth before she can stop it, but hell, it's the truth, and sugarcoating it won't do any good. "Not now, anyway, and we don't really have the luxury of waitin'. If it makes you feel better, you can pay me back later, but I want this house. We are getting this house."

"Can't we at least look at a few more first - something a little less expensive?"

"No."

"No?" he parrots back to her. "Just no? That's it? No room for compromise, or discussion, or—"

"I don't want to wait any longer, Cooper!" She settles her hands over her belly, cups them there protectively and looks out the window. "I don't want to be the size of the Goodyear blimp when we move, and I don't want to be on bedrest when we move, and—"

"Char—"

"No, let me finish! This is important to me, Cooper. I want to move now; I want to be settled _now_." Her voice wavers slightly, and her eyes get that sharp prick that comes before tears. Goddamnit, not now. "I don't want to wait anymore, I don't want to look anymore, I just… I want this to be the house. I want one less thing to worry about right now, okay? I have enough on my plate, without—"

"Okay," he tells her softly, trying to soothe now that she's clearly getting upset. "Okay, alright. We can make an offer on that house."

"Thank you," she murmurs, taking a deep breath and leaning her head back against the headrest, closing her eyes. There are little tendrils of worry snaking up her spine, wrapping around her. They're running out of time to get everything done. They have so much time — months of time — if everything goes right, but if it doesn't… She doesn't want to think about that. Can't. She tells herself not to, but her brain is still pre-occupied.

So much so that she almost misses Cooper when he says, "I'll give you what I can for the down payment."

"Don't worry about it," she answers quietly, adding, "Save your money."

But he insists. "No, I will give you something, Charlotte. I'm not letting you pay for all of—"

"Cooper." She cuts him off, rolling her head toward him and opening her eyes. "_Save_ your money. I can pay for this one."

He spares her a glance, then sighs heavily and nods slowly. "Fine. But we're splitting the mortgage payments."

Charlotte nods, tells him that's fine by her, then shuts her eyes again until they pull up to the hospital.

She reaches silently for her seatbelt, but he drops a hand to hers to stop her.

"Hey," he urges softly, and she looks up at him. "It's gonna be okay. Everything gonna be okay, alright?"

"Yeah," she mutters, unbuckling and looking away from him. He lifts his hand to her face, turns her chin toward him gently, and skims his hand back until he's cupping her neck.

"Charlotte, look at me."

She sighs, irritated, wanting out of this car and out of this conversation, and out of this sudden foul mood. But she looks at him, lifts her brows expectantly.

He looks her straight in the eyes, and tells her again, "Everything is going to be fine. We'll work it all out, and we'll deal with anything that comes up. Okay?" She nods, but doesn't say anything. "Good. I love you."

"I love you, too," she breathes, before rolling her neck against his grip. "Now can I get out of this car, and go to work, please?"

"Sure. Just one more thing."

"What?"

He leans in and presses his lips to hers, lingering over the kiss until she lets her lips part just enough for him to deepen it slightly. His tongue brushes hers once, twice, and then he eases back, breaking contact. "Just that," he tells her, and Charlotte can't help the way her lips curve slightly.

Damn him.

"Oh."

He smiles at her, and drops his hand from her neck, and tells her to have a good day, and that he'll see her tonight.

Despite her best efforts, Charlotte is smiling when she leaves the car.


	52. Chapter 52

Cooper collapses onto the sofa in Violet's office with practiced ease, then rolls his head in her direction, expectantly. He needs to talk, and she's still making her way from the desk.

"House-hunting didn't go well?" she asks with a sympathetic grimace, finally settling into the cushions next to him.

"No, it went great," he mutters sarcastically. "If the goal was to make me feel like an irresponsible child, an insensitive boyfriend, and a someone who's about two paychecks from living in a box under the pier. But, hey, on the plus side, we're making an offer on a house."

Violet had held onto her frown through the first half of that, but she forces a smile at that latter. "Hey, that's good. That's something."

"It's in the Palisades."

Her smile falters a little, and he knows she's thinking the same thing he was this morning: it'll be a hell of a commute from his place to hers.

"Oh. Well. The Palisades are nice…"

"It's gonna cost us almost a million and a half—"

"Wow."

"Which apparently isn't a problem because Charlotte is worth four times that. Meanwhile, I have about two pennies to rub together right now."

"Cooper," she chides dismissively, tilting her head slightly and smiling at him like he's being silly. Which, okay, maybe he's exaggerating a bit, but right now it's pretty much how he feels.

"She is _loaded_, Vi."

"You already knew that," she reminds him, reaching forward and grabbing an orange from a bowl in the middle of her coffee table. She digs her nails into the skin, the smell bright and sharp as she continues, "Didn't you say the house she grew up in was all big, Southern, Gone With the Wind plantation house?"

"Well, yeah, but—"

"And she has two jobs, and-"

"And good financial planners, yeah, I know, I've heard it all once already today, okay?"

"What do you want me to say, Cooper?"

There's a hint of annoyance in her voice, and he gets that maybe he's being frustrating here, but damn it, he's frustrated, too.

He lets out a heavy sigh, drops his head back onto the cushions and stares at the ceiling. "I don't know," he answers finally. "Something to make me feel less crappy about all this?"

"Maybe you need to consider why you feel so crappy in the first place." He lifts his head up, looks at her, and she continues, "I mean, Charlotte having money, that's… It's not really a problem, Cooper. In this case, it sounds like it's pretty beneficial."

"Yeah, but I'm—" He cuts off, drops his head back again, and mutters, "Never mind."

"You're what?" she urges, dropping her orange peels on the table and using her thumbs to separate the fruit in half.

He sucks in a breath, exhales heavily and admits what's been on his mind all morning, "I'm supposed to take care of her. She is my woman, she is having my child, I am the man here, and I feel like I'm failing spectacularly. I can't afford the house she wants, she's never happy with me, there are complications with the pregnancy, and I…" He turns his head toward Violet again, and admits, "I feel like I can't fix any of it. I feel… like I am failing her. I am failing this woman who I love _so much_, and—"

Violet shakes her head, cutting him off and saying his name. "Cooper. No. You're not, you're not failing her. You're in a tough situation – the baby is unplanned, your relationship was never that solid to begin with and now there are all these other elements coming at you faster than you'd planned — you're going to have bumps. And you're not going to be able to smooth all of them out. The important thing is that you work through them — together." He holds out his palm and she drops few sections of orange into it, then adds, "Or, you can dump her and come stay with me."

She smiles winningly at him, in a way that makes it look like she doesn't mean what she says, but he knows she does, at least a little. He knows she's lonely and scared, and… and now he feels pulled in two directions. Again. Like always. Be there for his girlfriend, or be there for his best friend? It seems like everything in his life lately boils down to that choice: Charlotte or Violet? If he makes one happy, he hurts the other, and it breaks his heart.

If they could just get along, this would be so much easier.

He takes another look at Violet, at the way she's looking at the orange in her lap now, peeling off a section and munching it without making eye contact with him. She's hurt. She's frustrated. He's failing her, too.

Cooper let's out a sigh, and says what's on his mind: "Do you think there's any chance you and Charlotte could, I don't know, learn to like each other?"

Violet scoffs; she has no problem meeting his eyes now. "That depends, Cooper," she tells him in a way that makes it clear it doesn't depend at all — she's not interested in being friends right now. "Do you think there's any chance she'll apologize for telling Pete about the baby?"

"Not a chance," he sighs, and Violet shrugs.

"There's your answer," she tells him simply, handing him another piece of orange.

Cooper takes it, pops it in his mouth, and as the taste bursts over his tongue, he tells himself he'll find a way to make this work for all three of them. He has to. He'll think of something.


	53. Chapter 53

A week later, they're at Cooper's for the night, and Charlotte's stretched out on the sofa letting Cooper give her a much-needed foot rub while they watch TV. Really, truly, awful TV in her opinion.

"Do we have to watch this?" Charlotte mutters, shifting slightly. She's achey today, can't seem to get comfortable.

"Yes, we do," Cooper insists, waiting for her to go still before continuing the slow, firm massage of her arches. "It's American Bake-Off."

"It's people bakin' cakes, Cooper," she gripes. "It's like watchin' paint dry."

He screws up his face and scoffs at her. "Oh, please. If I give you the remote, we'll end up watching something on DIY or HGTV, and then we will actually be watching paint dry. Violet's gonna call in the morning, and I need to know who won, and whose chocolatier sucked, and which flavors were-"

"Alright, alright," she grumbles, waving a hand at him and rolling her eyes. "I swear, you two are like a couple of old ladies. Old, co-dependent ladies. You're not even with her tonight, and she's still holding the remote hostage."

She's turned her attention to the screen, watching one of the contestants blow sugar into an intricate shape (it's almost interesting there for a second, if she's being completely honest). As a result, she misses the way he stops and stares at her for a long, slow minute. Then, he pokes her thigh lightly with the remote, and mutters, "Hey."

"'Hey' what?" she sighs, looking back in his direction.

His voice is softer when he asks, "Does it really bother you?" She can tell by the way he's looking her that he's thinking of changing it, for her. That he'd be willing to turn it off this time if she's really all that bent out shape about it. And oddly enough, that willingness is enough for her.

She gives him another half-assed eye roll and wriggles down deeper into the sofa cushions. "No. Leave it. It's fine. But after this, we're watching something else — something I pick."

Cooper smirks at her, smug and pleased, and agrees, "Fine by me."

For a few minutes they just lay there, and Charlotte lets herself enjoy it. She tunes out the TV (because, really, baking? A whole hour of baking?), and focuses on the way his hands are moving over her, working out the tight ache in the muscles of her feet, letting her eyes flutter shut as they move up lazily up her calf, then back down.

She wasn't all that tired a few minutes ago, not really, but she's finally found a comfortable position, and with the background noise of the TV, the cozy darkness of her closed eyes, and the warmth of his hands, she's suddenly feeling heavy and sluggish. Maybe she can just nod off for the rest of the show… Not like he'd miss her.

And then, she feels it.

Her eyes pop open, one hand moving to settle lightly on her belly.

Cooper notices the movement and looks to her. She must have a look of concern on her face, because he mutes the TV and asks her, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I…" There it is again. Her breath catches slightly, and her voice is soft and stunned when she says, "I think I just felt the baby move."

"What?" He sits straight up, reaches for her hip and adjusts her so he can reach her better — so much for that comfy spot — his hands going to her belly. "Seriously?"

She nods, making room for his hands amongst hers, but it's pointless. He'll never feel it. It's too light, too subtle. If she hadn't felt it twice, she might've thought she was just imagining things. "There was this little flutter…" She waits, waits, hopes to feel it again… but doesn't. After a few minutes, she sighs, and grimaces sympathetically at him. "I think she's settled down again."

He narrows his eyes suspiciously at her. "How do you know it's a she?"

"Just a feelin'," she shrugs, letting her hands fall away to give his more room.

"I still think it's a boy," he insists, and Charlotte just chuckles. Of course he does. Always gotta be stubborn, always gotta go with the opposite of whatever she says.

And then — suddenly — there it is again. That weird, tickling flutter in her belly. There's a baby in there. "Oh — there."

"I didn't feel it," he pouts, and she gives him yet another eye roll, but this one comes with an affectionate smile.

"Well, yeah, I'm barely feelin' it, Coop. You've got a good several weeks yet before you'll be feelin' any kicks."

That pout deepens, and he lets out a little whine, leaning down and pressing a kiss to her belly. He looks up at her and says, "I am so jealous of you right now, you have no idea."

"Oh, please. You are not."

"I am! You can feel the baby — our baby — move. Do you know how cool that is? That's… that's just… that's our kid, in there, inside you, moving."

"Okay, yes, that's cool. But the rest of it?"

"Oh, come on." He sits back up, lets his hands coast slowly down her legs again, and says, "You've felt fine for weeks now. You're just going for sympathy here."

"Hey!" She gives him a little shove with her toes. "I'm carryin' your kid. I think I deserve a little sympathy from you. I'm not askin' for it from anyone else, but when it comes to the guy who knocked me up, I think I have a right to complain."

"Nope," he tells her, popping the P. "Not anymore. Now you win. You get to feel the baby move, and I am just sitting here, waiting for my turn. No more sympathy." He turns one of those charming smiles on her, and adds, "Not tonight, anyway. Tonight…" He reaches for the remote, punches the mute button again to fill the room with sound. "We bake!"

Charlotte just groans, and tries to find that comfortable spot again.


	54. Chapter 54

"So, according to Addison," Cooper says as he slides into bed with Charlotte. "We can find out the baby's sex in the morning."

"Mmhmm," Charlotte agrees, absently, her attention focused on the the book perched on her belly. She's rereading _To Kill a Mockingbird_ for the umpteenth time, and is completely engrossed.

Smirking, he reaches over and hooks a finger in the spine of the book, tugging it down. He must've actually caught her off guard, because the pages slip from one of her hands, and she says, "Hey!" as she looks up and scowls at him. "I was readin' that."

"Uh huh. And I was talking to you."

"I was readin' first," she defends, and Cooper shrugs.

"You've read it before — a million or so times, right?"

Charlotte lifts one brow as if to say "So what?"

"C'mon, I want to talk about the baby."

Charlotte sighs, slips her finger into the page she was reading and says, "What about it?"

"Well, if we're going to find out tomorrow if it's a boy or a girl, maybe we should start thinking about names."

"It's gonna be a girl," Charlotte says with such matter-of-factness he almost laughs at her. But she follows it up with, "And her name will be Marjorie."

Cooper makes a face. He was really hoping she'd been kidding about that.

"What?" she says, testily, when she notices the look he's giving her.

"Marjorie?" he questions miserably.

"Yes. We already talked about this."

"That was when we weren't sure you were pregnant," he points out.

"What's wrong with Marjorie?"

_What isn't?_ Cooper thinks, but what he says is, "It's an old lady name."

Charlotte stiffens, and scowls. "It is not."

"Yeah, Char, it really is."

"Oh, and Walter's any better?" she challenges. "That was your name of choice, right? Walter?"

"Walter is a family name," he defends. He'd loved his grandpa Walter. He'd spent hours as a kid listening to him tinker on the piano, asking him how it worked, wanting to learn to play and tune and all that. Until he found out about Andy, anyway.

"That doesn't mean it won't get his butt whooped on the playground," Charlotte counters, drawing his attention back to the conversation. "And bein' a family name pretty much guarantees it's an old man name, by the way. You're namin' him after an actual old man."

She has a point there, but, "It's still better than _Marjorie_."

"I like Marjorie, and I'm the one carryin' this baby, so I get final say."

Cooper scoffs. Did she really just go there? "You get final say?"

"Yes."

"What we name _our_ baby is _your_ decision?"

"You wanna carry this thing?" she challenges, one hand settling possessively on the rounded curve of her tummy. "Be sick, and miserable, and potentially not allowed to have sex, or do your job, or leave your house-"

"Okay, A) stop talking that way or you'll jinx it, and B) That doesn't give you full naming rights. Can't Marjorie be her middle name? Y'know, if it's a girl."

"You willin' to boot Walter to a middle name?" she says, and he can tell by her tone that she fully expects him to say no. But unlike her, he's considerate, so he chooses a different tactic.

"Do you hate it?" he asks her carefully, unsurprised by her vehement, "Yes," in response. "Then… yes. We can each have our favorite name as a middle name."

He's got her there, and he can't help smiling a little. She wasn't expecting him to give. But she recovers quickly, unfortunately, telling him, "You come up with somethin' I like more then Marjorie, and I'll think about it."

Cooper sighs, flops back against his pillow, and Charlotte picks up her book again.

"What about Louise?"

She makes a face. "Louise?"

"It's your middle name, it's nice but not too common. We can call her Lulu when she's little-"

"No. Absolutely not. Nothin' with a cutesy nickname. You know how long I had to put up with Charlie Lou? Or worse, Charlie Lou Who, every damned Christmas. I'm not puttin' a kid through that."

Cooper has to stifle a laugh at that, and files it away for mockery next time the holiday comes around.

"Okay, so nothing with a cute nickname. Well, that takes all the fun out of a childhood…"

Charlotte rolls her eyes so hard her whole head nearly rolls with them, and focuses pointedly on the page in front of her.

"You're not gonna help me out at all here, are you?"

"I already told you, I like Marjorie."

"As a middle name."

"No, as a first name," she says, trying to keep her voice clipped and even, but she can't hide the irritation bleeding into it. "You said middle name, and I said if you could-"

"Come up with something better, yeah, I remember. It was, like, two minutes ago, Charlotte."

"Well, then I don't know why you're so confused."

He sighs again, tries to think of names she might like. Something a little old fashioned, something serious — but not too serious, kids shouldn't be too serious… "Elizabeth?"

She goes still for a second, like she's considering it, and then shakes her head. "Lizzie. Ellie. Libby."

He shortens it, tries for, "Beth?"

"Doesn't go with Marjorie."

"You're killin' me here, Charlotte."

She shrugs. "Not my problem."

Cooper shuts his eyes, wracks his brain. Danielle is out - Dannie. Is Jenny too cute, too, he wonders? Can he offer Katherine, or Cassidy? Is "Katie" too cute? Would "Cassie" work? Maybe she'd go for: "Lindsey?"

"Rhymes too much with Marjorie," she says, shooting him down again — and in a way that makes no real sense, because Lindsey and Marjorie don't really rhyme at all. "And I knew a Lindsey in high school. Hated that bitch."

"Fine," he groans, rolling onto his side to face her again. She's still reading her book. Cooper studies the well-loved cover as he tries to think of more names. It's a paperback, and the corners are all frayed, the gloss of the cover peeling a little on one edge. He should get her a new copy, he thinks. A hardcover. First-edition, maybe… This one has a scratch over the front, cutting right through the "Lee" of Harper Lee.

He blinks.

That's it.

"Harper," he says suddenly, and Charlotte lifts her head, looks at him. She doesn't speak, but he can tell by the look on her face that this one might work. He reaches over, and gently closes the book until the cover is facing her, her thumb still tucked inside. "After Harper Lee," he adds, needlessly, and she looks down at the book, then back up at him.

And then she smiles.

"Harper Marjorie Freedman," she says, slowly, like she's testing out the feel of it on her tongue. And then she nods, and that smile spreads into a grin. "I like it."

Cooper flops back on the bed dramatically, letting out an exaggerated sigh of relief, and she laughs out loud next to him. God, he loves that sound. Her happy, and laughing. He looks over, takes in the sight of her. The way her whole face has lit up with that smile. He wants to take a snapshot of this moment, freeze it in his brain so he can remember it later.

Especially since he's pretty sure he's about to ruin it by asking, "So what's better than Walter?"

"Everything," she smirks, and he reaches over and pokes her in the rib as punishment. She squirms, and whaps him with her book.

"C'mon, you made _me_ do it," he points out. "Give me a better name."

He figured she'd get all irritated, like he did, but instead he watches that smile fade completely from her face. She turns back to her book, suddenly somber, like the levity of the last few minutes never existed. And then she says, quietly, "Joseph," and Cooper's heart breaks for her.

"After your dad?"

She nods.

He can't deny her that, not even if he wanted to. And he doesn't have any protest for Joseph — but he's sure as hell calling the kid Joey. He lets his fingertips skate lightly along her forearm, and tells her, "Okay."

She glances over. "Really?"

"Mmhmm," he nods.

"Just like that?"

"Yeah, unlike you, I'm not into torture," he mutters, leaning in and pressing a kiss to her shoulder. She smirks a little, but he can tell her heart's not in it. She swallows hard, and presses her lips together, her eyes back on her book, but not moving. Just staring hard at the page. He knows she's thinking about her dad, now, and he isn't sure whether she'd want him to let her grieve for a second or pull her out of it.

He opts for a little of both, settling down against his pillow, and letting his arm rest just below the slope of her belly. "So," he says gently. "Harper Marjorie for a girl, and Joseph Walter for a boy." She nods, doesn't look up, and he lets his fingers toy lazily with the waistband of her pajamas. "Sounds good."

He's watching her face as it gets gloomier, more sad, and he can't stand to see her feeling that way. It's out of his mouth before he can reconsider: "Read to me?"

She blinks a few times, looks at him, and her voice rasps just a little when she says, "What?"

"Read to me," he repeats. "From the book. It's a good one; I haven't read it in years." She's on the fence, he can tell, so he adds softly, "It'll distract you."

She takes a deep breath, then, and nods. "Okay. Um." She clears her throat, and then begins.

"_Jem said nothing more about it until late afternoon. When we passed our tree he gave it a meditative pat on its cement, and remained deep in thought. He seemed to be working himself into a bad humor, so I kept my distance…_"


	55. Chapter 55

Charlotte wants to say she's not nervous, wants to say she believes everything is fine, but she can't. She can't even bring herself to lie to Cooper about it - which is frustrating and embarrassing. He's been frettin' over her since they got up this morning, and it's drivin' her batty.

"Everything's going to be fine," he assures her again, quietly, and not quite convincingly. They're set up in one of Oceanside's exam rooms, waiting for Addison to come start her ultrasound. Charlotte rolls her eyes at him.

"Don't, Coop," she mutters. "Don't say that. You can't promise it, so don't—"

"I can be hopeful," he says, adding lightly, "You should try it."

"I don't have time to be hopeful," she murmurs, watching her own hand as she runs it over her belly. "I'm too busy tryin' to do this right."

He does that sympathetic head tilt thing he's so good at and sighs her name. Thankfully, Addison chooses that moment to walk in, so she doesn't have to hear whatever reassuring thing he was going to try to throw at her.

"Good morning," she greets absently, glancing at the file - Charlotte's, no doubt — that's open in her hand.

"It's afternoon," Charlotte reminds, and Addison glances at her watch and frowns.

"Right. Sorry. The Peacham baby threw my whole day off course."

The Peacham baby is in Charlotte's NICU - and was under Addison's scalpel this morning — so Charlotte reminds herself (and not for the first time) that she shouldn't be irritated by this appointment being pushed back to an hour after lunch. Shouldn't be, but she is, because all the delay meant was that she had more time to worry about what they're about to find out.

"Can we just get this over with?" she asks, testily, and Cooper sighs next to her again.

"Can you at least pretend to be a little bit excited about this?" he asks her.

Charlotte purses her lips for a second, then tells him, "I'll do my best," before looking pointedly at Addison.

She's standing next to them now, ultrasound wand in hand, and Charlotte's pretty sure she's fighting a smirk. "What do you want to look for first? The previa or the sex?"

"The previa," Charlotte answers quickly. "If it's bad news, I want somethin' good after it."

"Okay. So. Previa, sex, amnio."

Charlotte swallows hard, feels herself begin to sweat a little at the thought of the gigantic needle Addison'll be stickin' into her in a few minutes. She nods to Addison, reaches for Cooper's hand, then takes a deep breath and reminds herself to focus on right now. Not five minutes from now.

Cooper squeezes her hand lightly, and she glances his direction. He's seein' right through her, a sympathetic smile on his face. It doesn't quite manage to hide how nervous he is, too, but then Addison presses the ultrasound wand to her belly, and a quick lub-dub-lub-dub-lub-dub fills the room. Cooper's jaw drops, and for a second he looks like he'll almost cry. And damnit, his reaction is makin' her feel a little weepy, too. She knows the feelin' — the wonder — hearing that heartbeat for the first time and knowin' it belongs to somethin' you made.

He lets out an exhale, and just stares at the ultrasound machine. Speechless. Again. He shakes his head a little, and then he's grinning, and yeah, he's definitely gonna cry. And damnit, so is she. The tears well in his eyes, and a second later he's wiping at his cheek and she lets out a little, watery laugh herself, and tells him, "You suck."

He looks at her, sees the tears shining in her own eyes and just grins harder. "Oh, come on, you tell me that's not amazing."

Charlotte just points her free hand at her watery eyes. She'd managed not to shed a single tear the first time she heard that heartbeat, but hearin' it here, with him, seeing his reaction… She takes a deep breath, sniffles a little, and turns her attention back to Addison.

She's standing there grinning at both of them. "Wow, I never thought I'd say this, but you two are pretty adorable."

"Oh, shut it, Montgomery," Charlotte says, but there's not a whole lot of heat in it.

Still, Addison humors her, and says, "Ah, that's more like it," before turning her attention back to the ultrasound screen. "Alright, let's see how the little one is doing."

Charlotte feels a lurch of nauseous anxiety in her gut, and says a little prayer that everything is fine now. Cooper squeezes her hand again, and holds.

Addison moves the wand around, pointing out the face, the fingers (she doesn't have to, they're both doctors, they know what they're lookin' at, and it just prolongs the agony). And then she swings low, and Charlotte holds her breath.

Addison lets out a breath, her mouth drawing into something not quite a frown but definitely not a smile, and Charlotte's heart sink. "Damnit," she mutters, and Addison nods.

"There, see?" she points out. Charlotte sees it, plain as day. "The good news is, it's implanted here," Addison points again, "And that has shifted a little, but the placenta grows as the baby grows, and since it's a little bigger now—"

"It's still blockin' the cervix," Charlotte finishes for her, letting her weight sink more fully into the cushion at her back. So much for prayers.

"It is," Addison confirms, and Charlotte feels Cooper's hand go slack against hers. She looks at him, and he looks just a crestfallen as she feels.

"So what does that mean?" he asks Addison. "What do we need to do now?"

"Well, luckily, it's still only partial previa, and it's still early. Most cases of placenta previa aren't even caught until now, and you've still got time to grow before we need to worry. We'll check it again at the start of your third trimester, and if there's no change, then we'll be talking about pelvic rest. But for now, same as usual. Relax, take care of yourself, don't worry."

Charlotte scoffs a little. Don't worry. Right. Like she can do that, knowin' what she knows.

Cooper murmurs an "Okay," and a "that's good," and Charlotte can't see how any of this is okay or good or anything other than a disaster. She was so hoping a month would have changed things. Addison is telling them how the baby looks great, otherwise, and there's no reason for them to rule out a chance at a normal pregnancy and birth yet, but Charlotte doesn't want to hear any of it. In fact, she wants out of here. Wants to go sit at home and sulk, and she knows it's not a very attractive or mature reaction, but, well, she's the one in charge of keepin' this baby safe, and she can't help but feel like she's failing miserably.

"Is it a boy or a girl?" she asks suddenly, interrupting Addison.

"Charlotte…" Cooper says, in a voice so sympathetic it makes her sick.

"Shut up, Coop," she tells him, defeated. "I get it; we have to keep waitin' on it. But I don't want the pep talk, so let's just keep goin'."

"Okay," Addison agrees, gamely, drawing the wand over Charlotte's belly in search of a good angle. "Let's see if we can't get baby Freedman here to give us a little show…"

Cooper smirks; Charlotte doesn't.

Thankfully, the kid's bein' agreeable, and it doesn't take Addison but a minute to get a straight shot between the baby's legs. She smiles, and points, and Charlotte sees somethin' that makes her heart stutter hard in her chest: three little lines. "It's a girl," she breathes, and suddenly she's buoyed back up, the emotional devastation from a minute ago swapped for a surge of joy she wasn't quite prepared for.

"She's a girl," Addison confirms, and Cooper let's out this joyous little laugh.

She turns to look at him, and damnit he's crying. Again. Now she's laughing, too, both of them just lookin' at each other with stupid grins on their faces.

"Harper," he says to her, and her heart just plumb flops over in her chest. She nods, looks back at the screen. At her daughter.

"Harper," she whispers, shaking her head. She feels another hard surge of emotion and brings a hand up to her mouth to hide the way her chin quivers.

"Harper, huh?" Addison asks them what seems like an eternity later. She's handing Cooper a stack of ultrasound photos — Charlotte hadn't even realized she'd moved, didn't notice that Cooper was the one holding the wand in place now, not Addison. "That's a good name."

"Thanks," Charlotte murmurs, craning her neck to see the photos.

"You take a look at those," Addison instructs, taking the wand back from Cooper for a minute. "I'm going to find a good place for your amnio."

Charlotte's suddenly much less concerned about the photos. She glances at the gigantic needle on the tray nearby and feels that sheen of sweat come back.

"Hey, look at me," Cooper urges, moving in close and holding the ultrasound pictures up. "Look at her. Just think about her."

Charlotte nods, and does her best, focusing on the image in front of her. Her mouth is dry.

"We're having a daughter," he whispers to her, and Charlotte nods dumbly again.

"You might feel a little pinch," Addison warns, and Charlotte squeezes her eyes shut, tensing up.

"Wait," Cooper tells Addison. "Char, relax, look at me."

Charlotte takes a deep breath, forces her muscles to relax one by one, but she doesn't open her eyes. When she's ready, she nods. She winces at the pinch of the needle piercing through her belly, tries (and fails miserably) not to visualize it penetrating all the way into her womb. She feels a little light-headed.

She feels her uterus cramp up slightly, and squeezes one hand into an anxious fist.

"And we're done," Addison announces a moment later, and Charlotte lets out the breath she'd been holding.

"See, that wasn't so bad," Cooper says soothingly next to her, and she opens her eyes then, and glowers at him.

"If it's not so bad, you try it," she hisses. "And don't patronize me."

He holds up an ultrasound picture in front of her face again, and just says, "Harper."

Charlotte can't help it; she laughs. "Nice try," she teases, taking the picture from him with slightly shaky fingers. She can't be mad at him while she's lookin' at this, not right now, so she guesses flashin' it to her was a pretty good move after all.

"Alright, you guys are all set," Addison announces, and Charlotte sits up fully and starts puttin' herself back together. "You should take it easy for the rest of the day. I'm sure you've still got work to do, but do it from your desk. Sit. Relax."

"Yeah, of course."

"I have a few more patients," Cooper says, "But I should be out of here within about an hour and a half. Do as much as you can before then, and we'll take home the rest?"

He's doting, and she finds she doesn't mind it so much now. Plus, there's her nagging fear that something else could go wrong. So Charlotte finds herself giving in without so much as a fight. "Okay, sounds good."

Five minutes later, she's sitting in her office, tucking a couple of the grainy black-and-white photos into her purse, and running a hand over her belly. They're not out of the woods yet, but damnit, she's not givin' up.


	56. Chapter 56

They're at her place tonight, because she still has work to do and prefers to do it at her desk instead of sprawled on his couch. Or, more accurately, _she_ is at her place tonight, waiting for Cooper to get back from his celebratory dessert with Violet. She doesn't mind, not really. It gives her time to work. Time to herself.

She's propped one of the ultrasound photos against her pen cup, and her gaze keeps wanderin' to it while she tries to get stuff done. She's not one of those touchy-feely new moms who needs to have every ultrasound photo displayed in her office — she'll leave that to Cooper — but she likes havin' it here, at home. Likes the reminder of why she's bringin' work home instead of stayin' at St. Ambrose or Pacific until nine or ten at night.

Her phone beeps at her suddenly, and she glances at it. It's a calendar alarm: "Call Momma."

She'd promised to call her once a month, and she's been good at it — the only problem is, it's a couple hours later in Alabama, and sometimes she forgets until it's too late to ring her up. Hence, the alarm.

Charlotte finishes up what she's doing, then takes her phone, and the picture, and moves to the sofa. She hasn't told her Momma about the previa yet — didn't want to worry her unnecessarily — but she supposes she ought to tell her now, or she'll be hollerin' at her later about keepin' her in the dark if this doesn't resolve itself before it's time for the baby to come.

She dials the house number, waits through one ring, a second, and then, "'Lo?"

It's Duke.

Not exactly what she was expectin', and it throws her just a little. They haven't spoken since she left Alabama. "Hey… it's Charlotte. Is Momma there?"

"No, she's out with Lou," he tells her, and she's pleased to hear he sounds completely sober.

"Oh. Okay. Well, have her call me when she gets in, I'm sure I'll still be up."

"Alright. Um, Charlie?"

"Charlotte."

"_Charlie_," he says again, just to infuriate her, she's sure.

"_What_?"

"Congratulations, about the whole baby thing. I've been meanin' to call you, I just… Well, Landry read me the riot act about how I was when you were home, and I didn't really know what to say to ya."

Well, that's unexpected.

"An apology would be nice," she tells him, not really expecting him to give one.

But he surprises her again: "I'm sorry. It was real hard."

"I know," she tells him, letting him off the hook. They don't need some kind of sappy reconciliation. "Don't worry about it. You're my brother. It's fine."

"Good, good…" There's a moment of silence between them that is just a little uncomfortable, before he asks her, "So, how's this baby of yours?"

"Good," she tells him, even though it's not quite the truth. But she'll save the dirty details for Momma. She looks at the photo again, and smiles. "She's a girl. Just found out today."

"Really?" Duke says, sounding all perked up all of a sudden. "I'm gonna have a little niece?"

"You are."

"Well, damn… Ain't that somethin'. And a good thing, too. We need some more girls on the King side, right? Y'all are gettin' to be outnumbered."

"Yeah, we are. Haven't done a tally in a while, but I think you menfolk have us pretty well beat."

"You got a name for her?"

"Harper," Charlotte tells him, enjoying the sound of it more every single time she says it. Harper. Her daughter's name is Harper.

"That's pretty; I like it. What's her daddy's name again?"

"Freedman," Charlotte answers, not bothering with the first name. She knows why he's asking.

Sure enough, he says, "Harper Freedman. Not a bad name, sis."

"Thanks, I like it."

"You got any blurry pictures to send me that I won't be able to make heads or tails of?"

Charlotte laughs at that, nodding even though he can't see her. "Yeah, I'll scan a couple and send 'em your way. She looks like a little baby now, it's crazy. Fingers and toes, and little knees and all that."

"She kickin' ya yet?"

"Yeah, actually. Well, she moves. It's more of a flutter than a kick, but I'm sure she'll get there. It's the weirdest damned feelin', you don't even know."

"You startin' to worry she's gonna be like _Alien_, just come out through the front?"

Charlotte laughs at that. Her brother's always had a wacked sense of humor. "Nah, I think she'll be better behaved than that."

"Your kid? Not likely."

"Shut it, you."

"Yeah, alright." He chuckles a little, but his voice has changed a little, gone tentative, when he asks, "You, uh, you decorate the nursery yet?"

"Got some ideas, haven't bought anything yet. I wanted to know what I was havin' first."

"Will you do me a favor and wait on buyin' stuff? I have somethin' I wanna give you — the both of ya — well, I guess all three of ya. You and the baby, and, y'know, your man. Don't want it to clash with the rest of what ya get."

He's nervous. Awkward. Which means this really means somethin' to him.

"What are you up to, Duke?"

"Nothin' you need to know just yet, Nosy Nellie."

"Well, how long's it gonna take you to ship it here?" she asks. "I'm about to go hog wild buyin' some girly-girl stuff, and I can't guarantee my willpower will last."

"Actually, I was thinkin' I'd bring it out myself. I know you were just here and all that, but we didn't really, uh, get to spend much time together. I miss my big sister."

Well, he's just full of surprises, isn't he?

"You wanna come out for a visit?"

"If you don't mind."

"No, not at all." She puts him on speaker, and pulls up the calendar on her phone. "When are you thinkin' of comin' out? We're movin' in two weeks, but I haven't sold my apartment yet, so if you come in the next month or so, you can always stay here. Or," she smirks, "You could come out for the move, help set up the new place. Cooper'll be on my ass if I try to paint or rearrange the furniture or any of that on my own. It'd be nice to have an extra pair of hands."

"Yeah, sure, that sounds great."

"Really?" She wasn't fully expecting him to take her up on it. It'd be nice, sure, but who wants to come all the way out to Los Angeles to schlep furniture?

"Sure. What are brothers for, right?"

"I guess… Thanks. I really appreciate it," she says, and she really does. As annoying as he can be sometimes, and as furious as she was over his behavior two months ago, she loves him. He's her boneheaded baby brother; she never could stay mad at him for too long. "And since you're doin' me a favor, I'll even pay for the flight out and back. First class. My treat."

"You don't have to do that, Charlie…"

"You're my baby brother, I'm allowed to spoil you now and again. When you're not bein' a complete ass."

"It's really not necessary," he insists again. "What I'm bringin' ya, I'd rather drive out."

"You'd rather _drive_?" Charlotte asks, and now she's intrigued. "It's, what, a thirty-hour trek from Alabama to here?"

"Aw, c'mon, it'll be fun. Hit the open road, see some of the Southwest. Really, I'm lookin' forward to it."

"Liar," she drawls, although he sounds like he might actually mean it. "Why don't you just let me buy you a ticket out?"

"Why don't you just mind your own damned business," he retorts, good-naturedly. "I mean it. I'll let ya know when I'm leavin, I'll check in with ya every now and then so you don't have to worry, and then I'll sleep on your couch for a week or so, and then drive home."

"If you're sure…"

"I'm positive."

Charlotte looks up as the locks tumble on the door, and a second later the knob turns, and Cooper walks in. He smiles, gives her a little wave, and holds up the take-out containers in his hands. Fried chicken. Bless him.

"Alright, then," Charlotte tells her brother. "I'll see you when you get here. Tell Momma to call me tomorrow; I need to talk to her about somethin'."

"Will do," Duke says, as Cooper cocks his head at her curiously. "Talk to you soon."

"Mmhmm. Bye."

"Later."

Charlotte ends the call, and is entirely unsurprised when Cooper asks her immediately, "Who was that?"

"Duke. I called to tell Momma about the baby, and he picked up. He's gonna come out and help us move," she tells him with an amused smile on her face.

"I thought you two still weren't speaking?" Cooper asks, taking a few steps toward her.

"Nuh uh, no fried chicken on my white couch," she forbids, setting her phone down on the coffee table, and standing. "And we weren't, but we mended some fences tonight. He's very excited about his new niece."

"Ah, see, babies bring people together," Cooper tells her as they head for the kitchen. "Nobody can resist a baby."

"Apparently not." She heads for plates as Cooper sets the takeout containers on the kitchen table. "He says he has somethin' for me, but he wants to drive it out here. Which makes me think it can only be somethin' too big to fly. In which case, I'm not sure whether to be thrilled or terrified."

Cooper smirks, opening containers of chicken and mashed potatoes, and cole slaw, and mac and cheese. Charlotte already had a Lean Cuisine, but as soon as the smell hits her, her stomach rumbles loudly. Clearly, she has room for more.

"Speaking of family visits," Cooper says, and Charlotte's not sure she likes where this is going. "My parents are probably coming for a visit in about a month or so."

"Oh." Well, that's definitely terrifying. "When did this happen?"

He glances up at her, clearly sensing her hesitation, not that she was tryin' hard to conceal it. He's a little more reluctant when he tells her, "They've been talking about it for a while… Well, okay, pretty much since I told them you were pregnant."

"Well, nice of you to finally bring it up."

She sets down their plates, then grabs herself a few pieces of chicken.

"It was never anything definite, they just want to meet the mother of their grandchild before, y'know, they actually _have_ a grandchild. But things were so rocky for us, and then we decided to move, and I figured it would be better for them to just come after we're all settled in, and have more room for them."

In the time it's taken him to make his excuses, Charlotte has pretty much desiccated a drumstick. God, she's hungry all of a sudden. _Baby girl has an appetite_, she thinks, and then she smiles in spite of her irritation, reminded once again that she's havin' a girl.

"When were you plannin' on tellin' me?"

"When they'd actually picked dates," he tells her, scooping some mac and cheese onto his plate.

"You didn't think it might be wise to consult with the other person who will be livin' with you by then as to whether or not she wants house guests on a certain date?"

He pauses with a forkful of mac and cheese halfway to his mouth, and two of the noodles fall off and plunk back to his plate. "I suppose that would be wise," he admits, slowly.

"Might be."

"Okay, well, you didn't ask me about your brother coming out," he points out, giving her his best "got ya there" face.

"That's different," she defends. "He's stayin' here, not our place."

"Oh." Cooper scowls, and Charlotte laughs at him. He was so sure he had her with that one.

"Look, it's not the end of the world, I just wasn't expectin' a visit from Ma and Pa Freedman in the midst of all the baby plannin', that's all."

Cooper raises his brows at her. "Ma and Pa Freedman, huh?"

She smirks, and reaches for the coleslaw.

"Judy and Russ," he reminds, and Charlotte rolls her eyes.

"I know your parents' names, Coop." She scoops a spoonful onto her plate while Cooper bites into a thigh. After a second she asks, "Do you think they'll like me?"

It's a stupid question — one asked by insecure women with a pathetic need for approval. And yet, she finds herself worryin' that her future… in-laws? What's the proper term for the parents of your babydaddy? Whatever it is, she's worried they won't exactly warm to her. She's not unaware that she's a bit of an acquired taste.

But Cooper tells her, "Of course they will. They'll love you."

And he almost sounds convinced of it.

Charlotte decides she doesn't want to think about this anymore, and switches the subject, asking him how Violet took the news about their impending new arrival. Cooper gets all excited telling her about it, and Charlotte smiles, and nods, and eats her chicken.

If family's gotta come, then family's gotta come.

Nothin' she can do about it.


	57. Chapter 57

Packing is a bitch.

Charlotte's thought about buying a house a time or two since she moved to Santa Monica - it'd be nice to have a yard, a fence, a respite from noisy neighbors on the other side of her wall and a garage where she doesn't have to worry about anybody else dinging her Mercedes. But aside from the fact that she doesn't really need more space, and that her quaint, lovely apartment is perfectly affordable, the one thing that had kept her from calling the realtor was the daunting idea of packing up everything she owns, carting it across town, and unpacking it again.

And now she's nineteen weeks pregnant, and doing just that, ignoring the now-incessant need to pee, the distraction of the somersaults Harper seems to be doing inside her belly, and the ringing of her cell phone. If it's not a work emergency, she's not answering it. Not tonight. Tonight, she is packing up as much of her belongings as she can manage to live without for the next week.

She has exactly 7 days left until they move into their new home and she feels woefully behind.

She's tackling what's left of her living room today, stacking books into neat piles and nesting them in cardboard boxes. A quick scribble of Sharpie letting her know what's tucked away inside. She bubble-wraps vases and little pieces of sculpture, creates a mental plan of where everything will go in the new house. And then changes everything again in her head. And then thinks maybe she'll just toss it all and start fresh, furnish from scratch. Hell, it'd be easier than this crap.

Harper makes herself known again with a rolling flutter and Charlotte finally hits full capacity on her bladder. It's time for a break.

But only a short one, she promises, heading for the bathroom and doing her business before grabbing a water bottle from her fridge. It's not exactly gonna help with that constant need to pee, but she's been thirsty lately, sucking down water like she's in a desert and hasn't seen it for days.

She takes her bottle back to the living room with her and sits down at her desk with a sigh. It's the final cluttered outpost of the room. She'd been leaving it for last in case she needed to do any unexpected work from home, but half of what's here is personal, so she might as well pack that stuff away. Anything that can go, must go, she tells herself, taking another sip before tugging her pen cup closer.

She grabs a sheet of paper from her printer and tests each pen, writing her daughter's name with each one and tossing aside the two that had bare spots in the letters. No use packing away a dying pen. She boxes her stationery, her boxes of blank greeting cards - she's prepared for everything from illness to weddings, babies and birthdays without ever having to step foot inside a Hallmark. It's a habit she picked up from her Momma - one of the handful of Augusta King's traits she's grateful to have.

When she reaches for her card box - the one holding all the cards she's been given and wants to keep - she hesitates. It's half full of birthday cards from her parents, congratulatory cards for graduating med school, landing a job, getting a promotion. A few cherished Christmas cards, and one remarkably heartfelt note her father gave her when he picked her up from her last day of rehab. He'd made her promise not to read it until he'd left for Alabama, and she'd obliged. And then she'd finally read it, and wept, curled in a pathetic little ball at the foot of that very bed down the hall, on her first night alone in this apartment. She has the overwhelming urge to read it again, suddenly, now that she's about to leave this place. She's come so far from then, and yet the shadow of her addiction hangs over her, a gloomy cloud of doom that she's going to have to share with Cooper soon, if things don't improve over the next few weeks.

For what seems like the millionth time, she says a silent player that the placenta will move, that they'll be in the clear at her next ultrasound, and these few weeks will all just be a stressful memory.

She wants to pull the note out and read it again, but it's buried. Weighed down by a thick stack of sympathy cards she couldn't bring herself to open a month and a half ago (God, has it been that long already?) when Big Daddy passed. She'd told herself she'd get to them eventually, but she just hadn't had the strength for it then, and then the weeks had gone by, and she'd let them sit, collecting metaphorical dust and imaginary weight. They'd become a dreaded chore, something she kept promising herself she'd do another day.

She's acutely aware that this is one of her last nights alone — ever — so she takes a deep breath and lifts the lid from the box. Might as well get it over with now while she doesn't have an audience.

The first card is from a third cousin, once removed. Someone she'd seen at the funeral, briefly and from across the room, but hadn't bothered to speak to. She's not sure how she even got her address here in Santa Monica. And then she reminds herself that she felt the same way about half the cards that showed up in her mailbox, and curses the Southern gossip-and-information machine for its efficiency. Everything is everybody's business - as evidenced by the half-dozen Congratulations-on-your-impending-arrival cards she's gotten and tossed in the last few weeks. It seems that cat is good and well out of the bag around Monroeville - and has pranced its way all the way up to Oneonta and probably beyond.

The card from her cousin is polite and rote - they aren't close, never have been, and it's your typical _we're sorry for your loss, Big Daddy was a good man, you'll all pull through this with the help of Jesus_ sentiment. So is the next one - from a woman in her Momma's parish — and the one after that — from her third grade teacher, of all people. Their lack of anything remotely personal or touching helps keep the pinch of grief around her heart to a dull ache. Then, she reaches into the box and finds the card she'd put so far out of her mind she'd almost forgotten it was there. Torn in two, one half slipping down along the side of the box.

The card from Cooper's parents.

She fishes out both pieces and carefully slips them from their envelope, laying the wrinkled cardstock together until it fits like jigsaw pieces, then opening it. His mother wrote it - there's nothing masculine at all about the loopy script - or the phrasing for that matter.

_Charlotte -_

_We're so very sorry to hear about your father's passing, especially at what should be such a joyous time for you and our Cooper. We hope you find peace and acceptance with time, and that you're able to weather this time of grief with the support of those who love you most. _

_We also want to welcome you to our family, and let you know that we're looking forward to getting to know you better before our grandchild arrives. Hoping to see you soon. _

_We will keep you in our prayers._

_Judy and Russ _

Charlotte reads it twice, feels that vise around her heart tighten ever so slightly with each word, then frowns and reaches for the Scotch tape nearby and carefully tapes the pieces back together. With a sigh, she traces her finger over a phrase - _welcome you to our family - _and then scowls. She's a part of his family now - knit together with these people she's never met by the baby in her belly. She's not entirely sure how she feels about that. Family is… messy. Always has been. But then, Cooper always speaks so highly of his…

And then, like he heard her beckon him from across the expanse of Hollywood, she hears the deadbolt flip on the front door, and her heart jumps into her throat. Cooper's home.

He's not supposed to be here tonight - not this early, anyway. He was supposed to be at the hospital until late, and then "spending the night at home" - which she knows by now means "crashing at Violet's but not wanting to admit it." And she'd been just fine with that tonight; it was giving her time to get the last of her things straightened, time to tackle this particular task. And now he's here, and she finds herself scrambling to pack all the cards back into the box before he sees them, overwhelmed by the need to hide what she'd been doing, despite knowing full well there's no shame in reading some stale sympathy cards.

She's just pushed the box pack into place when he strolls into the room. He sees her there, and smiles, and Charlotte swallows hard and forces herself to do the same. She hopes she sells it.

"What're you doin' here?" she asks, with something akin to pleasure.

"I…" He closes the space between them and drops a kiss on her head. "Missed you. So I thought I'd come here tonight, instead of staying at V— my place," he finishes lamely, and Charlotte rolls her eyes. She knows him so well.

"And how did Vyour place feel about that?" she questions, standing and stretching, sucking in a deep breath to clear her head.

He looks momentarily shamefaced at being caught in his little fib - but not so ashamed that he tries to keep up the ruse. "She was disappointed, until I promised her I'd stop by and make her breakfast." Cooper wraps his arms around her waist, drawing her in close.

"Mm," Charlotte acknowledges, before asking, "And who exactly is gonna make me breakfast then, huh?"

Cooper scoffs and tells her, "Please. You'll be up and out of here in time for me to drive all the way back to Hollywood, cook for her, and get back here in time for work."

"Not true," she insists, tapping him on his chest. "Traffic sucks at that time of day - you'll never make it."

"I think I could—" She makes a face at him - challenging, disbelieving, and he must know she's right about this one because he switches topics suddenly. "So, how have you been spending your evening alone?"

She jerks her thumb toward the boxes piled in the corner and tells him, "I was packing."

He frowns, instantly. "You shouldn't be doing that on your own."

And now Charlotte's rolling her eyes again and taking a step back, breaking his hold on her as she scoffs, "Oh honestly, Cooper. I can lift a couple of books. I'm not an invalid."

"I never said you were, but books can get heavy fast, and-"

"Well, then it's a good thing you're here after all," she announces, not wanting to get a lecture on the heaviness of paper and her poor, delicate state. She reaches for the nearest thing she can get her hands on - a glass seashell paperweight - and tosses it toward him. "You can help me pack."

He catches it, smirks, and shrugs. "Sounds good to me."


	58. Chapter 58

"You're going to miss the window."

He hates to bring it up, but, well, it's true, and if Violet misses this window she's going to have two pretty pissed off babydaddies on her hands.

She looks up from her bowl of mac and cheese and asks around a mouthful of cheesy noodles, "What?"

He picks up his fork and leans in a little closer, so the people at the next table can't hear their conversation. "You're almost at 13 weeks," he points out. "You're going to miss the window for the CVS test."

Violet rolls her eyes and slumps back in her chair. "Cooper, come on."

"You have, like, three days left," he continues, and she holds up a hand, shaking her head.

She sits up straight again, her fork stabbing into a piece of chicken in her bowl. "Seriously, Coop? You're gonna get on my case about this, too?"

"I'm not getting on your case," he tries to assure, scooping up a forkful of hamburger and cheesy noodles. "I just want to make sure you're aware that, y'know, your window is closing, and if you let it close… you can't force it back open. You miss the CVS, and you'll have to have an amnio. I watched Addison stick a big, fat needle into my girlfriend's belly a few weeks ago, and let me tell ya, it didn't look like much fun."

"Or…" she draws out as he takes his bite. "I could do neither."

Cooper frowns, chews, chews, swallows. "Vi. You have to get the test."

"Excuse me. What happened to Supportive Friend Cooper? When did he get replaced by Pushy Know-it-all Cooper?"

Cooper glares at her, reaching for a green bean fry. "I am not being a pushy know-it-all."

"You are. You're being pushy, and now you're going to tell me all about how you know better than I do and I should get this done." Her scowl twists deeper and she adds, "Cruella's rubbing off on you."

Cooper drops the fry, and frowns, correcting, "Charlotte. Her name is Charlotte, not Cruella. I know you don't like her, but —" Violet is opening her mouth to say something else, and Cooper steamrolls her, changing the subject and saying, "Anyway, that isn't the point. You should have the test because one of those guys is the dad, and he deserves to know. And because, y'know, I'm moving in a few days, and I'll be far away, and I won't be able to be there for you all the time."

"What happened to 'I'll be there as often as I can?'"

"I will," he assures. "I will be with you. As often as I can. But I'm not going to be ten minutes away anymore, and if this whole placenta previa thing doesn't get better — or if, God forbid, it gets worse — I'm going to have to be home with Charlotte more often, and I would feel better knowing that there's someone else who will come when you call."

There's a few moments of silence in which Cooper retrieves his green bean fry and munches it, and Violet pushes some noodles around in her bowl and (hopefully) lets what he said sink in. And then she says, "Pete and Sheldon would come. If I called."

Cooper deflates. Clearly, he didn't get the point across.

"But one of them isn't the dad," Cooper points out. "And don't you think it's a little… unfair? To that guy? Stringing him along-"

"I am not —'

"You are, Vi," he tells her, trying to be gentle. "I know you're not doing it for a bad reason, I know you're still trying to figure out how you feel about all of this, and about both of them, but none of that changes the fact that one of these guys is the father of that baby inside you, and the other isn't."

"I _know_ that," she insists, and he can tell she's getting more agitated about this whole thing, and he should probably let it go soon and get back to their dinner, but, well, this is important, and she needs a little push.

"So then find out who it is," he urges. "Just find out. What's the harm in that?"

Violet takes a deep breath, lets it out and tells him, "The harm is that I didn't get any say in being pregnant in the first place — I mean, sure, I had the sex, and I knew it could happen, but I did _not_ plan this — and I don't get to decide who the father is; that's not up to me either. But when I find out who the father is, and how much I involve him - _ that _is up to me. And I'm not doing it yet."

"Okay," he begins, gesturing with his fork, "Compromise:"

"I don't want to compromise, Coop."

"Just hear me out," he insists, repeating himself, "Compromise: get the CVS test. Tell the father in your own time."

She looks at him. "What?"

"You want some control over the whole thing, you want a say in what happens and when, fine, I get that. So take control. Find out who the father is, and tell him in your own time. You don't have to tell him right away, Sheldon and Pete don't even have to know you had the test done. Just find out. For you."

Violet sighs, and shakes her head. "Then I'd be lying to them. And besides, do you really think I could keep that a secret?"

"You kept the pregnancy a secret, and it would have stayed a secret even longer if it weren't for—" Her brows shoot up expectantly, and he offers a guilty little nod as he finishes, "Charlotte. So yeah, I think if you knew who the father was, you could keep it to yourself for a couple weeks until you were ready."

"Even if I could…" she begins, reaching for a green bean fry as Cooper scoops up more of his mac and cheese. "I don't think _I _ am ready to know who the father is. So please. Can we change the subject?"

Cooper sighs and relents, nodding. "Fine. We can talk about something else — for now. But I'm going to bug you again about this in the morning."

"I'm sure you will," Violet mutters, turning her attention to her bowl.

Cooper decides that maybe she's right, and he is being pushy. But in three days, the CVS test isn't an option anymore, and he figures it's worth annoying her for a few days to make sure she's absolutely sure that she doesn't want to find out the paternity results now.

But he loves her, and she's got enough on her plate without him turning one of their last nights out before he's living with his girlfriend into a bicker-fest, so he turns the conversation to Annie Bishop, and how he wishes he could make things better for her. It's not exactly a happier topic, but at least it's something she can help him tackle without it leading to a fight.


	59. Chapter 59

"Am I keepin' you from somethin' important?" Charlotte grumbles, and Cooper looks guiltily up from his phone, and then sets it aside.

"No, no…" he assures. "Just, uh… Violet is having kind of a crisis."

Charlotte rolls her eyes, and slumps deeper into the cushions of the sofa in her office. Of course it's Violet. Who else would it be?

"Look, she's going through something right now," Cooper argues, obviously aware of her disapproval. Not that she's trying to hide it. "She needs a shoulder."

"Don't we all," Charlotte mutters, arching her aching back slightly, and shifting again, trying to get comfortable.

"Don't," he sighs, giving her this face that's somewhere between frustrated and defeated. "Don't play that card. I'm here right now. With you."

"You have me in time out," she gripes, and really that's probably the source of all her irritation this afternoon, but whatever. She's pregnant, she gets a pass on cranky now and then.

"Well, you worked a sixteen hour day yesterday, Charlotte. If you're not going to make sure you sit down and rest once in a while, I sure as hell am."

She scowls and looks at her own phone just to avoid looking at him. She should've just lied to him, she tells herself. He'd called last night after his dinner with Violet, and asked what she was up to, and like an idiot she'd told him she was still at the hospital, swamped by a combination of backlog, over-scheduling, and difficult patients. She'd been at work since seven that morning - an early start she'd hoped would help her get a jump on the pile of paperwork she'd accidentally let stack up while trying her best not to work herself too hard. It was always going to be a long day, but she'd figured one long day wouldn't kill her or the baby. But then there'd been paperwork at the hospital, paperwork at the practice, three meetings, two interviews with new doctors, and one interruption after another. When he'd called at ten thirty, the end had finally been in sight - it wouldn't have taken her more than a half hour to hit her benchmark for the day and get out of there.

But he'd been furious. He'd known about her early morning, and it hadn't taken him long to do the mental math and figure out his delicately pregnant girlfriend had worked herself to the bone. There'd been a whole argument about it, and he'd shown up at her place within the hour "just to make sure she was home and not still working like an idiot."

She'd stood in the doorway, stood her ground, told him she was home safe and sound and he didn't have to worry about her anymore, and that he could march his grumpy, overbearing ass right back to his car and sleep in his own damned bed tonight, because she was done dealing with his crap.

Needless to say, today's been tense.

She had her usual eight o'clock with Pete, and ran into Cooper in the elevator. They'd managed to tentatively smooth things over, but now it's lunch time, and he's in her office forcing a break on her for the second time today. At least the last time he'd been sly about it, perching himself on the edge of her desk, chatting with her, asking about Duke's schedule, talking about the movers. She hadn't really caught on to what he was doing until he'd checked his watch none to subtly, nodded his satisfaction and said he had to get back to work.

She'd been steamed at the manipulation, and then he'd shown up again, fifteen minutes ago, and plied her with the promise of a foot rub. Who is she to say no to that? So now they're here, on her sofa, and he's checkin' his phone every two minutes in between half-assed massaging.

"I'm sittin' down right now," she points out, and he makes a face at her.

"Because I'm making you."

"I was sittin' when you walked in," she reminds. "In fact, I spend a good part of my day sittin' down - and spent even more of it on my ass yesterday."

"Then why do you look like crap today?" he asks, and she shifts uncomfortably. He's not wrong. She's peaked and tired-looking, her eyes shadowed. She looks like someone who worked too hard, and she knows it. And if she hadn't, Pete had pointed it out to her first thing, and it's not the first time Cooper's mentioned it.

Still a girl's got an ego, so she mutters, "Gee, thanks," and shuts her eyes, shimmying lower until her head is on the arm rest. God, she's tired. Maybe yesterday was a bad idea after all.

"You need to take better care of yourself," he tells her, and she huffs out a breath.

"I take care of myself just fine. I eat well, I go to yoga twice a week, I walk durin' lunch, I sleep alright most of the time-"

"And you work sixteen hour days."

She opens her eyes again and glares at him. "_A_ sixteen hour day, Cooper. One. One day, I pushed myself, because I needed to get this crap done. I can't lose this job, and I certainly can't lose it because it looks like my pregnant ass can't keep up."

"They're not going to fire you," he dismisses, and she shuts her eyes again.

"They might."

"They can't fire you just because you're pregnant."

"They can," she argues. "I signed a contract, Cooper, and they can. They need someone to helm this ship, so they can. They can." She sighs, heavily, and gives him what he wants: "I worked too hard yesterday. You're right. But it was a necessary sacrifice, and it was just one damned day. I'm fine today."

"You're exhausted today."

She ignores him, crosses her arms over her belly, and keeps starin' at the back of her eyelids.

A few minutes pass and he asks tentatively, "Charlotte?"

She grunts a response, and his thumb skims over the bone of her ankle.

"Just seeing if you were still awake," he tells her quietly.

She peels one heavy eyelid open and frowns at him. "Would it make you feel better if I took a nap?"

"Yes," he answers without hesitation, and she settles herself more comfortably into the cushions.

"Fine. But if I'm stuck here, you are too," she tells him. "I have an appointment at two, so you can't let me sleep past one-thirty. And get back to that foot rub you promised."

He doesn't answer her, just does as she asks - rubbing slow, relaxing circles into her arches, until the exhaustion gets the better of her, and she sinks into a much-needed nap.


	60. Chapter 60

Cooper is working his way through a small pile of patient charts - at least, he's attempting to. He keeps getting distracted, his eyes straying toward the photo frames on his desk. There's a picture of Charlotte - a rarity, something she let him snap on his camera the other night while they were packing. She has one hand on a book, the other on her hip - or where her hip ought to be, anyway, he thinks fondly. She's starting to round out a little, so it's more halfway to her ass than in the crook of hip that used to be so well defined. She's caught somewhere between a glare and a smile, putting up a fake protest at having her picture taken when she doesn't think she looks her best.

He thinks she looks amazing.

He'd printed it out yesterday afternoon, slipped it into a frame on his desk, and plunked one of the latest ultrasound photos of Harper into a frame next to it. His girls, he thinks. Right there for him to see any time he wants.

He wonders how long it'll take her to notice the picture and gripe about it. To complain he's showing her off while she "slowly expands into whale-like proportions," or "is making that stupid face," or "looks unprofessional." He doesn't care. He'll hold onto it while he can, this image of her, all full of life and attitude. It's better than the way she'd looked this afternoon, spent and tired and irritable. He's glad she agreed to a nap - she'd needed it. And he'd needed a little bit of time to fuss over her, to watch her rest, and make sure she's taken care of. She'd looked better when she woke up, so he'd decided to give her a break and stop ragging on her. He'd let her get back to work and given her some space for the afternoon, so now he's left to settle for his photo. He loves having her there, on his desk, but it sure is making it difficult to work tonight. To be honest, the sight of her is making a lot of things difficult these days.

And like he's willed her into being, he catches sight of her, striding through the hallway to his office, full of purpose. He smiles, and leans back in his chair, takes her in as he waits for her to make it to him.

He can't help looking at her. He spies on her constantly, ever since she first felt the baby move. It wasn't all that long ago, but he already thinks he can tell when she feels it. She inhales slightly, or she pauses mid-sentence. Once, he swears he actually saw her smile and touch her belly when she thought he wasn't looking. It makes him feel more a part of things somehow, like if he can see when she feels the baby, he can experience it himself by proxy.

But there are no smiles right now. She's just walked into his office, and she's all scowl. Or at least she was when she was still facing him, but she's shut the door behind her, and her back is still to him, fingers on the handle. She takes a deep breath, lets it out, but she doesn't turn to face him.

He speaks up, finally, asking her, "Everything okay?"

"Yeah." She turns, clears her throat, and tells him, "I, uh… I wanted to talk to you about somethin'. I had a whole speech, actually."

"A speech?" he asks, intrigued.

"Yeah, I just... I have to get this out, because we're movin' in together soon, and I should say it. Before that."

She's all nervy, and it sets him on edge, makes him worry. Maybe she's not as recovered from her long day as he thought? He wants to make sure he's a supportive ear for whatever she has going on right now, so he leads her to the sofa, and sits with her, urging her to spill her guts, he's all ears. If it has the added bonus of getting her off her feet again for a while, even better.

"I'm not much of a talker," she begins, quietly, and, well, duh. He knows that. "But…" She takes a deep breath, lets it out. "I've been thinkin', about a lot of things… Things we've fought about over the last few months, and… there's some stuff I need say."

"Okay." He shifts in his seat so he's facing her more fully, and then says, "Go."

She sucks in another breath, slowly, then deflates him by saying, "I don't need you. Not really — not in the purest sense of the word. If you weren't here… I could do this. I could do it on my own. I could make it through the day, and do my job, and take care of myself, and…" He'd feel a little more insulted if her voice wasn't still so soft, and if she wasn't fiddling anxiously with the bracelet circling her wrist. "I could do it, if I had to. But…" She lifts her eyes to him then, and his heart stutters a little at the sight of her. She's all open and honest, and he can tell it's hard for her, that she really had to ramp up the courage to park her butt on this couch and say this him. But with that look in her eyes, she's gorgeous. And then she says something that makes his heart beat double-time again: "I don't want to. I want you. Here, with me. I don't need you, but I want you. I could do without the meddlin' and the hovering over me like I don't know my head from my ass, but… Havin' you here, us movin' in together, it's… good. I'm glad we're doin' it, and I'm glad I'll have you around more often. I wish I'd let you be here for me sooner, to be honest, because the truth is…"

She shifts a little, licks her lips, looks away, looks back at him. Her voice is whisper-quiet when she speaks again: "I'm scared. I was nervous before, when everything was fine. I thought, y'know, I wasn't sure I was ready for this. I still don't really know, uh… I don't know what I feel. About the baby, about bein' a mom, I…" She shakes her head, looks down at her hands and picks at something invisible on her fingernail. "Anyway, what I was sayin'… I'm terrified. The last few weeks, I've been…" She blows out a hollow breath, and he can see the fear all over face.

He's at the same time sympathetic and ecstatic — she's talking, really talking. But she's hurting, too. Plainly so, and he gets it, he really does, because he's scared too.

So he reaches for her hand and squeezes it gently as she finishes her sentence with, "So scared. I want this to go right. I want this baby to be safe, and… I don't know if I can do that anymore. Y'know?"

Her eyes are a little wet now, and she blinks back the tears rapidly.

"Yeah, I know. I get it."

Her chuckle in response is half-hearted. "No, Cooper. You don't. You don't get it. And I'm not sayin' it to be mean, or to push you away. But… you don't get this. This baby, she's… She's the rest of our lives, and I'm the one responsible for gettin' her here safely. And now this stupid placenta…" Her voice has gone all wobbly, her eyes welling again. "And I know I shouldn't be workin' myself all day long, but I can't just do nothin' and wait for everything to work out. It's killin' me to just sit, and wait, and worry. There's nothin' I can do. When somethin' goes wrong, there's always somethin' I can do, some way I can fix it, but right now, there's nothin'."

A tear slips down her cheek, and she wipes at it, then does the same to the other cheek when it gets a tear as well. She sniffles; his heart breaks for her.

"Charlotte… sweetheart…" His thumb rubs over her fingers, his grip tightening gently. "You don't have to do anything to fix this. Addison said there's nothing to do, right? It will fix itself as you grow."

"It _might_ fix itself," Charlotte corrects, and he can see on her face that she's not optimistic. However easily remedied she may have made placenta previa seem when she told him about it weeks ago, it was all for show. She doesn't think this will be okay, and it's eating at her.

"It will _probably_ fix itself," Cooper amends. "Probably, that's what she said. And if it doesn't… Even if it doesn't go away, we can work really hard to keep you healthy for the next few months, and maybe the worst we'll end up with is a C-section. Which is something Addison does all the time, and it'll be fine."

"It won't be fine," she insists. "I can't have a C-section. It's not an option for me."

"Why not?" He lifts his fingers to her hair, tucks a few strands of it behind her ear, and asks her gently, "What makes you so different?"

She squirms again, like she's under scrutiny, and eyes him a little warily when she asks, "Did nobody say anything about why I had to have Pete help me with my insomnia last year, instead of just poppin' an Ambien?"

Oh. That.

He hadn't even thought of that.

"Your chart says you're allergic," he tells her, before adding hesitantly, "But it was kind of assumed that, uh… that wasn't the case."

Charlotte nods slowly, presses her lips together for a few seconds, then says, "I can't have surgery, Cooper. I can't need painkillers. Normally if I get hurt, I can just muscle through, but surgery is different. I mean, how do you muscle through havin' your guts cut open? This baby, these complications… I've been sober for years, and I have to stay that way. I can't take a forced leap off the wagon if I'm gonna have a newborn to worry about. How am I supposed to take care of a kid if all I want to do is… that. Forget work, forget just gettin' through the day for myself - how am I supposed to parent?"

Cooper doesn't know what to say to her.

This is a stickier mess than he'd realized. It's not just a matter of things resolving themselves, it's not just a matter of getting her to term if they don't, it's not just a matter of hoping a natural birth might be possible. It's a matter of sobriety.

She's terrified.

And he's out of his depth here. He has no idea how to make this better for her.

No idea at all. So he shifts his grip, uses it to draw her in closer and closer, until she has to shift and turn, and settle in against his chest. It's a remarkably public show of vulnerability for her, even if it is late in the day, and most of the practice has cleared out. So he wraps his arms around her, presses a kiss to her brow and murmurs, "I'll help you. It'll be okay. It'll resolve itself, and we won't have to worry about it. We're just gonna hope for the best, okay?"

"And if we get the worst?" she asks him, voice muffled against the fabric of his shirt.

"Then, I'll be there," he tells her, and he means it. This is his priority now, right here. Her and this baby. His family. "I will be there, and I will help you in any way I can. We'll get through it together."

"It'll suck," she tells him. "It'll be miserable, for all of us."

Cooper presses a kiss to her hair, and assures her, "You're worth it."

For a few minutes, she doesn't move. She stays there, leaning against him, her breathing so slow and even that he begins to wonder if she's nodded off again. And then suddenly she takes a deep breath and sits up, rolling her shoulders, and offering him a small, forced smile. "I'm beat. I should head home."

"Not to the hospital?" he questions, with maybe more suspicion than he should be giving her right now, but she really does need to stop working herself too hard.

She makes a face at him, clearly not thrilled at being… what did she say? Treated like she doesn't know her head from her ass? But all she says is, "No. Not to the hospital. I'm goin' straight home, eatin' somethin', then crawlin' into bed."

Satisfied with that schedule of events, Cooper nods, and says, "I have some more work to do here, and I should probably go home and finish packing…"

"It's fine," she assures, as she moves to stand. Cooper cups her elbow as she does, although she doesn't really need the help. He just wants another excuse to touch her tonight. "I'll be alright on my own."

He stands, too, and settles his hands on her shoulders, stepping in to press a kiss to her lips. She steals a second, and a third, a fourth. If he didn't know her as well as he did, he might miss the neediness in them. He tilts his head slightly, deepens the kiss, tightens his hold on her and indulges for a minute. When they break apart, he asks, "Are you sure you don't want me to come home?"

Her smile in response is more genuine this time; she seems steadier on her feet, more centered, less bothered. "I'm sure," she tells him, giving his shirt an affectionate little tug. "You go home. Pack your things. I'll have you all to myself soon enough."

Another lingering kiss, and an exchange of goodbyes, and then she's gone.


	61. Chapter 61

**Author's Note: **_It seems we need to talk about reviews for a second. I get that the new FFnet policy is that anon reviews are all allowed now, and it's on the writers to delete the ones they don't like. It's rare that I delete a review, because I don't want to give off the impression that I'm censoring my readers, but I do have an opinion on the subject, and I'm going to use some reviews from the last chapter to share that opinion with you. So. Let's chat about reviews. We will return to our regularly scheduled fanfic reading/writing tomorrow._

_First, I want to talk to this Guest user: "Too much extra words in this chapter. If you took out the extra words and  
>left the actual dialogue this chapter would be extremely short. It took alot of words to says very little. The good thing about anonymous reviews is people will give you their honest opinion instead of the kiss up comments by the non anon reviews. Ever notice people don't want to use their account names when they're being honest?"<em>

_I'm gonna breeze past your first complaint, because the dialogue-to-description ratio is an issue of style, and if you don't like my writing style, I don't know why you're still reading at chapter 60. What I really want to discuss is the idea that "anon" reviews are more honest, because people feel the need to "kiss up" when using their usernames. I don't expect anyone to kiss up to me, largely because I don't expect everyone to like everything that I write. I don't like everything I read, I don't expect everyone else to like everything they read, my stuff included. I would hope that my reviewers are honest in their opinions, whether they're anon or signed in. Frankly, I think if people who have registered usernames are using anon reviewing to criticize writers under the guise of "honesty," that's incredibly cowardly, and I don't take much stock in those reviews. If you don't care enough to sign in and risk getting a response from a writer, I don't care enough to take your opinions into much account. There are a few exceptions to this, which I will go into below._

_Also, I want to point out: we're all anonymous here, whether we're signed in or not. The only difference is that anonymous reviews can't be responded to privately, which means negative anon reviews are sort of the equivalent of running into a dark room, poking someone hard, and then running out before you can get caught._

_As I said above, there are a few exceptions to the "I don't put much stock in anons" rule stated above, and I want to go into the difference between a review that I would pay any attention to, and a review that I will roll my eyes at and ignore. I got 4 reviews on the same subject for my last chapter, and I want to share them with y'all now, and tell you why two of them I really appreciate, and wish I could reply to in order to further explain why things were the way they were in the last chapter, and two of them I couldn't care less about. Why? Because if you have an opinion you want me to actually care about, I want you to know how to actually get that opinion across. Otherwise you're just wasting your time and mine by reviewing._

_First, the reviewers I don't care about:_

_Guest #1: "She CAN have a c-section. Do you think people who are addicts never require surgery? Do you think they operate on addicts while they're awake? They give them anesthesia. You know nothing about childbirth! They give women an epidural during a c-section. It's not a hallucogenic drug! An epidural makes the lower half of your body numb. It's not addicting! Charlotte can absolutely have an epidural! She's a doctor she knows that! YOU don't know that! This story is getting very frustrating to read! Another thing is there is way too much unnecessary detail. I don't need to know her every move or every breath she takes. I don't need to know how she shifts, looks this way and then looks that way and then looks back again. Boring! I found myself skimming to find the quotation marks because there is far too much extra detailed crap about her every movement I didn't need to read."_

_Jana: "Your Charlotte is weak, if anyone can do it without pain meds ( Alot of peeps do) Charlotte can. Did you watch after her rape? She tolerated severe pain without meds. Charlotte is not the weakling you think. I have to dumb down if I plan to read this fiction again."_

_Okay, see how both these reviewers managed to not only share their views on my story, but also insult me personally? "You know nothing about childbirth!" "YOU don't know that!" "I have to dumb down if I plan to read this fiction again." Blanket rule here: if you insult me, I stop caring what you think of my writing. Especially if you do it using caps and exclamation points, to make your ire very clear. There's a general tone here, and it's very... for lack of a better word... bitchy. There's also a lot of assumption here - like the assumption that I don't know what goes into a c-section, or how that experience is different for those who battle addiction. Guys, I'm not going to write a story this long, that deals with a handful of medical conditions, without doing the research. I've researched previa, I've researched c-sections for people who struggle with narcotics addiction, I've researched how addicts are instructed to handle prescribed painkiller use after surgery, and (though it's less of an issue for this chapter) I've done buckets of research on pregnancy itself. Also, the assumption that I haven't seen the show. So let's clear that one up right now, too: I've been watching Private Practice since the pilot. I've seen every episode, and I have seen all of Charlotte's stuff multiple times - I've written literally hundreds of thousands of words of fanfiction for this character. Trust me, I've seen all of her stuff. lol So yes, I've seen season four, and I know how strong Charlotte is. But this is season two, and CHARLOTTE doesn't yet know how strong Charlotte is. She hasn't been tested in that way yet, and she's anxious. She's tough. If she needs a c-section, she'll get through it. Doesn't mean she's not nervous about it. She struggled a lot in season four after she was raped. Her addiction was a big part of that struggle. She hasn't been tested that way yet in this story, and she's scared. She's allowed. It doesn't make her weak, it makes her human._

_Okay. So. Those are the types of reviews that I tend to read and disregard. Let's look at two on the same topic that I appreciate, value, and take to heart. Also, since these are both guest reviews as well, I'm gonna take a moment to respond to them here. The lack of ability to respond is one of the reasons I hate anon reviewing - I like to have a dialogue with my readers. Folks who review consistently while signed in can tell you that I frequently respond to reviews, either to thank people for taking the time to review, talk about the show, or clarify things they have had concerns with in a chapter. On to the good reviews!_

_Guest #2: "FYI - Charlotte can have a spinal block for the C-section. It's not an issue. Look up *spinal block* in your search engine. Her prior drug addiction is not an issue with a C-section. They are done using spinal blocks unless it's an emergency then they use general anesthesia which is also not an issue with her history of drug addiction. Drug addicts and alcoholics need surgery too. :) I understand you're not in the medical profession or have had a child yourself so you wouldn't know this but most of your readers probably know this and Charlotte/Cooper should especially know this."_

_"Amanda:I didn't take pain killers after any of my c sections. I'm petite the pain killers make me loopy and give me bad dreams. My sister didn't take them after her c section for the same reason as me. Charlotte is a strong lady, stronger than me and my sister for sure. The pain isn't as bad as you describe. After going through labor with no meds or epidural the recovery was the easy part. I got through it no problem and so do many other women. I'm not a drug addict I just don't like taking artificial drugs. It might surprise you how many women refuse the painkillers. There are others who induldge taking more than they need just because they can. I didn't think this chapter was inappropriate for Charlotte King. She's a strong woman if other women can handle it with no pain meds she can for sure."_

_First big difference here: tone. Amanda and Guest, thank you for talking to me like a person, and for treating me with respect even though you disagree with my writing. I appreciate that. Notice how both of these reviewers said things that weren't all that far off from the reviews above, but did it in a way that was a) constructive and b) calm and respectful. They saw something they didn't like, they raised the issue like polite adults, they both made the assumption that I didn't have real life experience, but they did it in a way that wasn't abrasive or rude. As a result, I do thoughtfully consider their reviews, unlike the two super-negative examples above. Same criticism, totally different reviews._

_And since they were respectful and constructive, I'm gonna take a minute here to respond to each of them. Please bear with me while I do. If you had some of the same concerns as these reviewers, please read on - the commentary here may apply to you as well._

_Guest #2: You are absolutely right - the pain management for the C-section procedure itself wouldn't be a problem, and Charlotte and Cooper (and it seems, you and I) would know that. That's part of the reason that Cooper, even though he's already surmised his girlfriend might have a drug problem she hasn't brought up yet, hasn't considered the fact that Charlotte would consider a c-section very problematic. The real problem for Charlotte here comes with the painkillers that are often prescribed after a c-section. And you're right - addicts and alcoholics have surgery all the time, and oftentimes that means taking the requisite painkillers afterward. As far as I can tell from my research, that's usually advised to be done under heavy supervision and lots of addiction management, to ensure that they take the pills for only as long as they actually need them, and then sober up again. And that is what Charlotte fears in this chapter - that process. This chapter deals a lot with Charlotte's fear of the unknown and of things out of her control - she's afraid things won't resolve with the placenta previa, she's afraid the baby won't arrive safely, she's afraid she'll end up in a position where (whether she ends up taking the pills or not) she has to struggle with pain, and the temptation to use, all while trying to care for a newborn. So you're right - the c-section itself isn't the problem, but the aftermath is. That will become much clearer in later chapters, when they have more discussion of the medical aspects of Charlotte's case, as opposed to this chapter which is much more emotion-based. You are correct in that I am not in the medical field - thanks for not holding that against me, but simply pointing out places where I may have not considered all the facts. I hope you continue to read and review, preferably while logged in. ;)_

_Amanda: Thank you for sharing your experience - part of my research for this aspect of the story included reading accounts of women who'd had c-sections regarding the amount of pain they were in, pills they were prescribed, how long they took them after the c-section, etc., and it's always great to have more input. I totally agree with you that Charlotte is a strong woman and would, like you, refuse the painkillers. If this had been a Charlotte POV chapter, we might have seen more of that side of things. But since this is a Cooper POV chapter, we are relying solely on his impressions of Charlotte and the words that she says. The issue of addiction wasn't something she intended when the conversation started - Cooper is the one who leads them down that path by bringing up c-sections - so it's not her most eloquent statement of how she feels in that regard. I actually had a line in there where she said that this isn't something she likes to talk about (very true to Charlotte in the early seasons, I think), and Cooper told her they didn't have to talk about it all right now. I cut it out; maybe I should've left it in. lol For the most part, this chapter is about fear on her part, and about her being anxious about how things are going to progress. I don't think fear is antithetical to strength - I think her being worried things won't go well, and worried that she will end up slipping and having to struggle with addiction and parenting at the same time doesn't undermine her strength. One of Charlotte's parenting fears, which we saw in season 4 when they discussed kids, was that she'll raise kids in a home like she grew up in. This is that same fear, just manifesting itself in a way that fits this story better. She doesn't want to consider the possibility of having to deal with a level of pain that will challenge her as an addict while she's already being challenged by a newborn. Later on, there will be more discussion about how they plan to handle things if the c-section becomes inevitable, and you will see a little bit more of the Charlotte you're expecting there. And as I said to Guest #2 - I hope you continue to read and review, preferably while logged in. ;)_

_So there ya go. Those are my thoughts on reviewing, and my thoughts on this chapter, and if you've stuck with me this far (both in the story and this epically long author's note) God Bless ya. And thank you for investing your time and energy in my stories. I appreciate ya._

_The next chapter is in the final revision stages, and will hopefully be up tomorrow morning._


	62. Chapter 62

Cooper's loft is a forest of boxes, all stacked up and neatly labeled and ready for the moving truck that will arrive in the morning. He's moving into the house first, a decision Charlotte isn't sure she's wild about, but with Duke staying with her, it makes more sense to leave her place more intact for now. So he's all packed, his bookshelves bare, Houdini posters all bubble wrapped and boxed, clothes zipped into suitcases or stuffed in around breakables as free padding.

And the two of them are on his sofa, all tangled up in each other, having one last hurrah in the place where they began. Or trying to, anyway. It's an exercise in frustration if you ask Charlotte. Her belly has grown enough that fitting them both on the couch in a comfortable position requires a little more maneuvering than it used to, and while Addison has assured her she doesn't need to be on pelvic rest unless there's bleeding, the previa has them both just spooked enough that it's hard to relax completely.

When his phone rings, she's almost grateful, because she's startin' to feel the call of nature anyway. Almost grateful, but not quite, especially when he reaches for the receiver on the very first ring. He doesn't stop kissing her, just reaches over and gropes for the speaker button, taking a breath and calling, "Yeah?" when he's managed to make the connection. She wonders why he even bothers answering if he's so hell-bent on keepin' up the tonsil hockey, and rolls her eyes when Violet barrels into conversation without so much as a hello. Of course it's Violet. They had dinner two hours ago but heaven forbid they go another without checking in with each other.

"Even if I did call Addison right now and ask her to do do the CVS test before it's too late, and not tell Sheldon or Pete," she starts with, and Charlotte's browse rise at the suggestion. That's their new plan? Cooper is scrambling for the phone now, no doubt wanting to get her off speaker phone before Charlotte hears anymore about this. "It'd be useless. We'd never know who the father was without DNA samples, and if I asked for those, they'd know."

Cooper fumbles the phone before he manages to turn on the receiver, and it clatters into an open box nearby, slipping down into a nest of electronics wiring. He curses, and Violet pauses, then asks, "Am I on speaker?"

Cooper winces, off the sofa now and rifling through the box for the phone. Before he gets a chance to answer, Charlotte smirks and supplies, "You bet."

"Cooper!"

Cooper's wince become a glare as he turns it toward Charlotte. "Well, how did I know you were gonna lead with that?" he excuses, finally finding the phone and switching from speaker to the handset. He sighs, heavily, and says after a moment, "She's not going to tell Pete," the look on his face making is clear that's as much threat for her as reassurance for Violet. Charlotte finds herself rolling her eyes again as he insists, "She's _not_." And now he's rolling his eyes, and turning his attention back to the sofa, "Charlotte, are you going to say something to Pete?"

She makes a face that lets him know she's considering the option, but doesn't answer. His glower works itself even deeper, but he somehow manages to lighten his voice when he assures Violet, "She says no. It's fine. Don't worry about it. And, okay, maybe you can't find out who it is now, but if you do the CVS test, you at least have the baby's DNA on file, and you can check it when you're ready, without having to do the amnio, which you've made it very clear you don't want to do."

He's working his way up from the floor as he talks, and without so much as another backward glance at Charlotte, he heads for the bedroom and shuts himself inside to keep the conversation private.

Charlotte blows out a breath and shakes her head, grateful that despite the headache of her own pregnancy, at least she's not dealing with Violet's particular brand of baby drama. Except when she is, because lets face it, she's somehow tangled up in that mess as well, whether she wants to be or not.

Five minutes pass, and with every one Charlotte grows more and more irritated at being abandoned on the couch so her man can deal with someone else's crap. She checks her phone, calls her brother. He's still two hours out, she has plenty of time before she needs to head home. But now it's been another five minutes, and she's five degrees more irritated, and screw it. Screw it, and screw him, she thinks, sitting up and reaching for her purse. She's not gonna lay here all night and wait for him.

She tries to think of something else, anything else on the drive home, but she can't get it out of her head - "if we did the test and didn't tell them." She's not sure why she's so stuck on it - she doesn't usually bother with other people's business, but, well... She'd be lying if she denied that she's started to consider Pete something akin to a friend, and she knows how much this whole paternity thing is stickin' in his craw. And it's rude, and underhanded and - her phone rings, and it's Cooper. Not surprising, and she has half a mind to just let it ring, but she doesn't, answering the phone and telling him, "You would kill me if I did that to you. You would _have my head_ if I knew something that important about our baby and kept it from you. It would be the end of us."

"I know," he tells her, sounding a little caught off guard by the opening tirade.

"Pete's my friend."

"What?"

"Pete's _your_ friend."

"You can't tell him. Please, Char, she has a right to-"

"Lie? Withhold information?"

"No," he draws out, in that way he does at she hates because it makes her feel like he's thinking of her like a dumb kid. "She has a right to do this in her own time. Besides, if she agrees to the CVS test now, then I don't have to bug her about an amnio for the next few months."

"Is she doin' it?"

Cooper hesitates, doesn't answer, and Charlotte thinks that's probably all the answer she needs. But then he speaks up, finally, sighing and saying, "I don't know. I have her on the fence, I'm trying to push her over it, but if she doesn't do it by tomorrow, she'll have missed the window. And she's right, y'know, if she does the CVS test and doesn't get their DNA, it's waste of time."

"A CVS test isn't a waste of time," Charlotte argues. "There's plenty she can find out other than paternity - chromosomal abnormalities, genetic disorders... It's a good thing to have done, regardless."

"You didn't do it," Cooper points out, and she scowls, punching the gas to make it through a yellow light - she has to pee like nobody's business now, and the sooner she can get home, the better.

"I had other things goin' on," she reminds, adding, "And I had the amnio, which gives you all the same results, and more. Besides, this isn't about me. It's about her. And for the record, I don't appreciate being left to stew in your livin' room while you tend to another of Violet's problems on a night that was supposed to be for us."

"You're the one who left," he points out.

"Yes. Because you were in the next room with the door shut for ten minutes, dealin' with somethin' that isn't even really your business."

Three blocks. She's three blocks away. She can pee in another three blocks.

"Okay, it is my business," he argues, and she's rolling her eyes again, hard. "She's my best friend."

"Oh, for God's sake," Charlotte mutters.

"She _is_," he insists, "And she needs support right now."

"What she needs is to grow up and handle her own business, find out whose baby she's carryin', and whine to _him_ all the time when she has problems, instead of monopolizin' all of your time."

"Okay, y'know what? This is stupid. I don't want to fight over Violet - again."

"Join the club," she tells him under her breath.

She hears his exasperated sigh as she puts on her blinker, ready to turn into her parking structure. "Are you going home?"

"I'm about to park - and then wet myself. Why?"

"Can I come over? We were supposed to have tonight."

She turns, says tartly, "Yes, we were."

"C'mon, Char-"

"Duke's gonna be here in a bit."

"Good, I'll get to see him again. I can make nice."

At this point, the pressure in her bladder is the only thing on earth she really cares about, so she lets out a breath and tells him, "Y'know what? Do whatever you want. I'll be here. I have to go."

She hangs up her phone and parks, then grabs her purse and makes a mad dash for her front door.


	63. Chapter 63

"Y'know, you didn't have to come over just because you felt guilty," Charlotte tells Cooper.

They're sitting at her kitchen table - by the time he threw his overnight bag together and drove from Hollywood to Santa Monica, they hadn't had a whole lot of time for gettin' down and dirty - and frankly, Charlotte wasn't much in the mood anymore. Duke had called to say he'd gained some ground and was only a half hour out, so now they're sitting here. Waiting. Stewing in the tension left over from earlier.

"I'm not here because I feel guilty, I'm here because I want to be with you," he tells her, and Charlotte presses her lips together, looks at him doubtfully.

"Coulda fooled me," she replies, and now Cooper is the one who is exasperated, slumping back in his chair and sighing.

"Seriously, Charlotte?"

She tips her chin up and tells him, "Yeah. Seriously." He shakes his head at her. "You left me there, waitin' on ya, while you rehashed a conversation you'd no doubt had a hundred or so times in the last few weeks, and probably about an hour prior. If you haven't convinced her by now, you're not gonna."

"Okay, we have _not_ had the conversation a hundred times, and I'm working against a deadline here, and-" He stops mid-sentence and sits back up, reaching for Charlotte's hand and squeezing it. "Y'know what? Forget it. I'm sorry. I ignored you, and it pissed you off, and I'm sorry."

Finally, she thinks. Although she's not sure if he's really sorry or just trying to stifle this argument before it really gets going. Either way, she'll take it. Last thing she needs right now is to get herself amped up and angry. So she nods slowly, and says, "Thank you."

Before they can stumble themselves into another argument, Cooper's phone rings. He looks at it, then answers quickly, sparing a glance at Charlotte that makes her think he's concerned she's gonna be pissed about him taking the call. "Hey," he greets, and she can tell by his tone that it's not Violet. "You ready for us?"

Charlotte frowns at that, and she mouths _Ready for what?_ Cooper looks away from her, and her nostrils flare with frustration. Does he really think tonight is the night to mess with her?

"Alright, we'll be there soon," he says, and then, "Yeah," and then he hangs up.

"What's goin' on, Coop?" she asks him, arms crossed over her chest, butt firmly parked in her chair. She's not going anywhere unless he gives her some info first.

"We have to go to the house," he tells her, standing and picking up his mug, reaching for hers before she can unfold to stop him, and taking them both to the sink.

"What house?" Charlotte bites, good and irritated now.

"Ours," he draws out, and her frown draws even deeper.

"Why?"

"Because Duke is there, with your present."

Charlotte blinks.

"What?"

"That was Duke," he tells her slowly, and her mouth thins into a harder line. "He's at the house, and we need to go meet him there."

"Why didn't he just come here?"

"Because he didn't," Cooper gives as a non-answer before reaching for Charlotte's elbow and trying to urge her up.

"Why is he calling you and not me?" she asks, shrugging him off.

Cooper rolls his eyes and counters, "Why don't you stop being difficult and come find out?"

"I'm not dressed," she points out, and it's true. She's in an old, threadbare Johns Hopkins t-shirt and leggings - hardly clothes meant for leavin' the house.

"Oh for God's sake, Charlotte, he's your brother, it's our house, it's not like we're going out in public. Come on. Skedaddle."

In the end, her curiosity gets the better of her irritation, and they end up in Cooper's car, headed up into the Palisades. When they pull up in front of their house, Duke's pickup is parked outside, and the front light is on, the windows of one of the front bedrooms illuminated behind the blinds. Harper's room, Charlotte notices.

When they walk into the house, it's mostly dark and completely empty, a shell of a home that would be almost eerie if it weren't for the staircase lighting casting a glow into the entryway.

Cooper urges her up the stairs, and Charlotte obeys dutifully, if a bit reluctantly. At the top of the stairs, she turns, and there's her brother, leaning against the door jamb of her daughter's room. "Hey, Charlie," he greets casually, like this is something they do every day - meetin' up in empty houses in the late evening hours. "Nice place you got here."

"Thanks," she says absently. Then, "What the hell's goin' on?"

Duke looks at Cooper and raises a questioning brow. "What's got her panties all in a knot?"

Before she can shoot back a reply, Cooper says "That'd be me. Sorry about that."

At least he's owning up to it.

"Well, maybe this can cheer her up," he says, nodding to the closed bedroom door behind him. "Come take a look."

For all his nonchalance, Charlotte can tell that he's nervous - a fact that sets her even more on edge. But she follows him anyway - that's what they're here for, after all. They step into the nursery, and it's mostly bare except for a toolbox packed away and tucked into a corner, three champagne flutes sitting on top. Charlotte doesn't notice them, though - her attention is stolen immediately by something along the far wall: a crib.

Gorgeous, warm wood, stained and laquered, the name "Harper" meticulously carved into the thicker wooden arch of one end. At first, she thinks it's an incredibly thoughtful gift - and then she remembers what Landry had said about Duke learning carpentry, and her already slack jaw drops a little further. He made this, she realizes. For her.

She doesn't realize there are tears in her eyes until she turns to her brother, and finds him looking incredibly uncomfortable. She clears her throat and wipes at her eyes, forcing a chuckle, and excusing, "Sorry - hormones. Can't seem to keep 'em dry these days."

Duke laughs awkwardly, and Charlotte can't help the way her gaze is drawn back to the crib. "Well, don't just stand there," he urges. "Go take a good look."

Charlotte nods dumbly and crosses the room until she's standing right in front of it. Duke hovers a few feet away from her. There's a bundle of cloth in the center of where the mattress should be, but Charlotte ignores it for now, too busy admiring the craftsmanship of the crib itself. She skims her fingertips across the slats, and they're smooth and cool to the touch. The color is neutral, but rich. Easy to decorate around, she thinks absently. Charlotte skirts the edge of it, traces the grooves of her daughter's name, and feels her eyes ache with fresh tears. This is her baby's bed, she marvels. This, right here, is where the little girl inside of her is gonna spend all her young nights, and Charlotte's baby brother made it for her with his own two hands. She blinks hard and clears her throat, looking up again. Shaking her head in awe, she murmurs, "Duke, it's beautiful... Thank you."

He shrugs a shoulder, and tells her, "It's just a crib."

"It's not," she insists, but he waves her off again.

"Just wanted to make sure my baby niece had somethin' to remember her family by," He cracks a smile and continues, "Since you'll probably never bring her home to see us."

"Hey," Charlotte protests. It loses some of its heat to the fact that her shock is giving way to a bubbly thrill of pleasure, forcing her mouth into a happy smile.

"Oh, we'll bring her home," Cooper assures. He'd been hanging back, letting them have their moment, but he speaks up now, adding, "Once in a while."

"I can't believe you did this," Charlotte mumurs, fussing over the crib again. Then she turns to look at Cooper - she's trying to glare, but it's hard to really sell it with the look of pleasant surprise still fighting for purchase on her face. "You knew about this?"

"He told me yesterday," Cooper explains. "He had to build it here, so I had to get him the keys this afternoon, and was supposed to keep you occupied until he told me he'd gotten it all put together."

"Well, you did a bang up job of that, huh?" Charlotte mutters, her irritation creeping through again for the briefest of seconds. But then she smiles and reaches for his hands, links their fingers and squeezes. She glances at Duke and says, "You're a couple of sneaks, aren't ya? Tryin' to pull one of over on me."

"Succeeding," Duke corrects, smug smirk firmly in place. "You had no idea."

She looks to Cooper again and tells him, "You're awful sweet when you want to be, y'know."

Cooper grins almost sheepishly, and Duke protests, "Hey! Who's the one who built the damned thing, drove it across country, and assembled it all alone in this empty house?"

Fair point, Charlotte figures, dropping one of Cooper's hands and turning toward Duke. "You're right," she mollifies. "You deserve all the credit, Duke. Thank you. It really is gorgeous. Perfect. You've got a gift, I swear it."

"Stop gettin' all mushy," he insists, and Charlotte watches him nearly squirm under the compliments. "Look in the crib."

"I saw it," she says, but she turns her attention back to the bundle anyway and finally gives it a proper look. In the middle of the crib, haphazardly swaddled in a receiving blanket dotted with large, pale-pink polka dots is a bottle of what looks like champagne. Charlotte lifts it out, tugs away the blanket, and reads the label. It's sparkling grape juice - nonalcoholic, which means she can imbibe with them.

"I thought we oughta, y'know, celebrate the new baby and the new house and all that," Duke explains. "Figured I should get somethin' you could drink, too."

She shakes her head, turns to her brother and says, "Remember when we used to drink this stuff at New Year's when we were kids? Out of the good crystal and everything. We thought we were so damned fancy."

"You mean before we all started sneakin' the good stuff," Duke recalls, smirking. "Yeah, we were really fancypants kids back then, huh?"

Charlotte chuckles, swipes her thumb across the label, and asks, "We gonna just pass it around, or...?"

"We've got glasses," Duke says, turning toward the toolbox on the other side of the room. Cooper's beat him to the punch, though, and has already bent to retrieve them. He comes back with all three flutes, and Duke takes the bottle from Charlotte, carefully working the top free and then pouring. When they each have a full glass, he sets the half-empty bottle back in the crib and lifts his flute.

"To new beginnings," he toasts, and as Charlotte lifts her glass, she meets Cooper's eyes and thinks to herself that that sounds like a damned fine thing to toast. New baby, new home, and maybe, just maybe, a fresh slate for the two of them. Starting right now.

They sip, all three of them, and then they stand around drinking juice and talking about Duke's drive, other plans for the nursery, how things are back in Alabama. It's a half hour before they've finished the bottle, another half hour after that before they're all back at Charlotte's apartment. Cooper's decides to head home after all, so he can be ready to meet the movers in the morning, so Duke slides into Charlotte's guest parking spot while Cooper and Charlotte say goodbye in the car.

She's still in the passenger seat, and she turns to him with a smile and says, "Thank you for tonight. It was a great surprise."

Cooper reaches over and brushes her grown-out bangs to the side, telling her, "It was good to see you smile. You looked really happy."

"I was," she insists, hands settling over the swell of her belly as she adds, "I am. I'm glad this happened - the baby."

He looks at her curiously, smile blooming. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I know sometimes it seems like I'm not - and, y'know, sometimes... it's a lot. It's a big change, and there's a lot of sacrifices, and a lot of adjustments and concerns, but... I'm comin' around to the whole thing." Especially after tonight. She thinks of that perfect crib, tucked away in their new home. Its inaugural piece of furniture, waiting patiently for their happy little accident to rest her tiny head. It's given her an unexpected rush of anticipation for the whole baby thing to really get rolling. "We're gonna be a family."

His smile widens into a grin, and he tells her, "Yeah. We are."

For a second they just smile at each other, and Charlotte marvels at the fact that not two hours ago they were bickering in her kitchen, and now look at 'em. Grinnin' like fools over the future they're about to create for themselves.

"Hey!" Duke calls from the curb, startling them both. "You two gonna sit there all night moonin' over each other, or are you gonna come inside?"

Charlotte snickers, and rolls her eyes, waving her hand at him and turning to Cooper. "I should go."

"Yeah," he chuckles, leaning over to plant a kiss on her. Charlotte meets him halfway. When they part, she reaches for her seatbelt and unclicks it, but before she can pop the door handle, he's unbuckling his own belt, and leaning over toward her again. "Hold on," he urges. "I need to say goodbye to her, too." He bends low, and talks at her belly, "Harper, it's your daddy." Charlotte snorts a laugh. He's really gonna do this, huh?

"You know she can't hear you yet, right?" Charlotte teases.

"Shush," Cooper gripes, turning his attention back to her tummy. "Don't listen to your momma. I'm going home," he tells her navel, "But I will see you tomorrow, in our brand new house. Sleep tight, Harper." He tugs her t-shirt up and plants a kiss on her belly, and Charlotte feels the baby kick and grins. A happy coincidence, most likely, but she decides to indulge him anyway.

"Maybe she can hear you, after all."

Cooper frowns and presses a hand to her belly. "Did she move?"

"She kicked." He hasn't been able to feel it yet, it's still a little too soon. It hasn't kept him from trying a time or two, though. Harper's not being terribly cooperative tonight, it seems, because Cooper stays planted there for a full minute and the baby doesn't move again. Charlotte shrugs, tells him, "I don't think she's gonna put on a show. Maybe in the mornin' you can try again - she moves more then."

Truth be told, she moves the most at night, right when Charlotte's starting to nod off, but if she tells him that, he'll be there all night.

Cooper lets out a dejected sigh, and an intentionally melodramatic "Fine," and then he sits back up and gives her one last peck on the lips. "Go let your brother in before he falls over from exhaustion or something." Charlotte reaches for her door handle, popping it open as he says, "I'll see you in the morning, roomie."

Laughing, Charlotte steps out of the car, and calls back, "Goodnight, Daddy."

As he pulls away, she leads her brother to her apartment, thinking that as crappy as it may have started out, tonight ended up being a really, really good night.


	64. Chapter 64

"I like your new place," Duke tells her once they're settled in her apartment. She'd made up the sofa for him while he showered, and now they're both in her kitchen, in their pajamas, shoveling in bowls of cereal for a bedtime snack. Charlotte is halfway through her first bowl, and Duke is already filling his second.

Some things never change.

As she watches him pour milk over his Cheerios, she says, "Thanks. I like it, too." He smirks at her, mouth already full. Boys. "And thank you again for the crib."

He waves a hand at her, finishes chewing quickly and insists, "Stop thankin' me. You already said it 'round thirty times. Thirty-two'll cheapen it."

Charlotte rolls her eyes. "I have not said it thirty times."

"Feels like."

"Fine. No more thank-yous." She scoops up another spoonful of Cheerios herself. "How was the drive?"

He jerks a shoulder. "Good. Fine. Nothin' special."

"I guess that's a good thing," she says, she takes another bite, chews, swallows. Duke's taken three more. "How's Momma?"

His face falls a little, and he looks at his bowl, stirring his Os a bit and telling her, "She's alright. Dealin'."

"Dealin' or drownin'?"

"Dealin'," he says firmly. "She's Momma."

"I know she is, Duke, that's why I asked the question," Charlotte mutters and Duke scowls up at her.

"She's allowed a drink now and then, Charlie," he excuses, but he's wrong. She's not - not really.

"She's already blown through her liver once," she reminds, "She keeps it up this way, she'll be well on her way to exhaustin' the replacement - and does she really want to go through surgery again? Does one of you really want to donate again, because I'm sure as hell not slicin' off part of mine so she has longer to drink herself to death."

"Really?" Duke asks, and Charlotte wonders how they catapulted so fast from small talk about the drive to an argument about their mother's alcoholism. "You'd just let her die? Losin' Big Daddy was easy enough, so you figure why not-"

"Don't!" She cuts him off, "Don't you dare. Don't you dare imply that _anything_ has been _easy_ for me lately, especially losin' Big Daddy. And I wouldn't 'just let her die,' but... She needs help, Duke. She needs treatment."

He glares at her, then mutters, "Not everyone is you, Charlie. Momma's fine with how she is. There's not a damned thing anyone can do to change that, not even you, so just drop it already."

Charlotte's not sure she believes that's true, but she knows that another fight is the last thing she wants tonight. Certainly not with Duke. She's tired of them bein' at odds. So she gives it up for now, and nods, says, "Fine," and eats her cereal.

There's a long, heavy stretch of silence, the only sound the scraping of spoons on bowls, and the quiet crunching of cereal not yet gone soggy.

Finally, Duke breaks the stalemate, asking, "So how far along are you, again? You've got a good belly goin' on."

Charlotte's brow lifts slowly, but she takes it as the lighthearted veer in conversation it's meant to be, so she asks, teasingly, "You sayin' I'm fat?"

"I'm sayin' the last time I saw you, you were still skinny as a pole - I had no idea you were knocked up. And now look at ya - looks like you're smugglin' a cantaloupe under your shirt or somethin'."

Charlotte sits back slightly in her chair, and smoothes her hands over the curve of her belly. She's not huge yet, by any means, but she's undeniably pregnant. A cantaloupe sounds about right. "I know, right? Baby girl's killin' my girlish figure."

Duke grins, and nods, but assures her, "You still look good. Got that whole cute-and-pregnant thing goin' on."

"My face is gettin' fat," she counters in challenge, and Duke rolls his eyes. It's the first time she's said it out loud, but she caught a glimpse of a recent picture of herself on Cooper's phone the other day and was startled to see that she looks... rounder. Not heavy, but not quite herself.

"Your face looks fine."

"It's puffy." She's been told it's a sign of having a girl - that all the extra estrogen is responsible.

"It's fine," Duke sighs, adding, "And besides, it's not like you have to worry about usin' that pretty mug to pick up a guy."

"Gee, thanks," she bites, wishing she had something convenient to throw at him.

"You still never answered my question."

"Huh?" She honestly can't remember how they got here.

"How far along?" he repeats. Right. That.

"Twenty weeks tomorrow," she tells him, and, God, sayin' it out loud, she almost can't believe it. "Halfway there."

"You guys gettin' hitched?" Duke asks.

"Me and Cooper?"

"No, you and the Pope," he deadpans, shaking his head at her. "Of course, you and Cooper. You're knocked up; it's the right thing to do."

She wants to tell him that's old-fashioned and backward - the assumption that just because she's with child, she's gonna march down the aisle and put a ring on it. But it's not an unexpected question, so she keeps the venom to herself. Truth be told, she's a little surprised it's taken this long for somene in her family to make the suggestion, now that the dust has long settled over Big Daddy's death.

"I don't know," she admits. "Doubt it."

"Why? Don't you love him?"

She makes a face at him. "Of course I love him. Wouldn't be with him - wouldn't be movin' in with him - if I didn't love him."

"Then why not get married?"

"I don't know, Duke. We haven't really talked about it." She skims through her memory, and realizes, "It hasn't come up at all, actually. Not in any seriousness. We've had other stuff goin' on."

"More important than makin' yourselves into a proper family?"

"More important? No," she admits, because Lord knows most of the crap that's kept them from looking forward in terms of their own relationship hasn't been anything of import. "But we're... complicated. There's a lot of factors in play, and..." She sighs, admits, "We've had a lot of bumps lately. Outside stuff gettin' in the way and causin' arguments, and disagreements, and... there are some complications with the baby. The time's just never been right to talk about marriage."

Duke had been reaching for the cereal box again, but at the word "complications," his attention turns immediately back to her. Oh. So Momma hadn't mentioned that to the boys, then. "What do you mean 'complications'?"

Charlotte blows out a breath, then tells him, "My placenta's encroachin' on my cervix. Placenta previa - means it's in the way of her wrigglin' her little self outta me. My doctor says it'll probably fix itself as my belly gets bigger, and that we shouldn't worry, but how do you not worry about somethin' like that?"

"Looks like you missed out on those King birthin' genes after all, huh?" he tells her sympathetically, and Charlotte scowls.

"Hey!" she scolds. "Don't you talk that way. You'll jinx me. My doctor says the chances of a normal birth are still pretty high, I just have to wait and see."

Duke snorts a laugh. "Wait and see, huh? Yeah, you're good at that." It's dripping with sarcasm, and rightfully so. If anyone's well-versed in Charlotte King's impatience, it's her little brothers. Lord knows they did their best to test its limits over the years. "You gotta let me know how it works out," he insists. "Y'know, if it gets worse, or better, or whatever. I wanna know. You're my big sister," he adds on quietly. "I don't want anything to happen to ya."

It's sweet, and remarkably vulnerable for someone in their family to admit, so Charlotte smiles at him and reaches across the table. He meets her part way, and they link fingers for a second. "I will. Promise." Her smile goes coy and convincing when she asks, "You gonna say a prayer for me in church every Sunday?"

The corner of Duke's mouth turns up as he retorts, "You gonna show up in a church one of these Sundays?"

"Probably not," she admits - she's never been a churchgoer, not since she left Alabama. She believes, sure, she was raised to. But she's never been so devout that church would take priority over a weekend shift, or a blessed few hours of rest in an otherwise hellish workweek. The childhood habit had faded quickly in the Los Angeles sun.

"Then no," he teases, telling go of her hand. "If you're too busy to pray for yourself, I'm not pickin' up the slack."

"Not even for your baby niece?" she asks, putting on a pout for him. "You won't say a prayer for little Harper, so she can come into this world safe, and healthy, and happy? You want me to be sliced open and have her ripped from my-"

"Alright, okay," he begs off, laughing and holding his hands up in surrender. Charlotte grins. "Fine. I'll be sure to put your bum placenta in my prayers. And try not to get the shivers every time I have to pray about my sister's girly parts."

Charlotte smirks, rolls her eyes, and tells him, "Oh, grow up."


	65. Chapter 65

It's their first night together in their new home - all of Cooper's things are moved in, half the kitchen is unpacked, his sofa is in the family room, and his bed is set up in what is technically the guest room. Hers will be in their master bedroom, but right now it's back at her apartment, where her baby brother will be crashin' tonight. She moves in tomorrow, with the help of movers, and Cooper, and Duke. She's opted against spending one last night in her place, figuring with all the work he's doin' for them, Duke deserves to spend a night in a proper bed instead of on her sofa again.

But for now, he's here with them, pulling a box from their fridge that has "DO NOT OPEN" scrawled in Sharpie across the front. The top clearly had a label on it once upon a time, but it's been haphazardly peeled off, leaving a white scar of exposed cardboard across the otherwise butter-yellow box.

"Thank God," Charlotte mutters. "Been wonderin' what's in that thing all day."

"Well, now you get to find out," Duke tells her, and he's got that mischievous smirk goin' again, so she figures it'll be something ridiculously good. Not crib-good, but good nonetheless.

He doesn't disappoint.

He flips the box open, and it's a pie. A pecan pie, to be more specific, and Charlotte double-takes at the box. She knows that box — or she would've, immediately, had the baby-blue label still been on it. It's a pecan pie from her favorite bakery in Monroeville.

"You didn't," she marvels, and Duke grins.

"Nope," he tells her. "I didn't. Momma did." He lifts the pie pan carefully out of the box and sets it on the island countertop, adding, "It's her housewarming gift for ya. We're supposed to eat it once you're all moved in, but if we don't tell her, she'll never know we lit into it early."

"I say half moved in is moved-in enough," Charlotte decrees, mouth already watering.

Cooper emerges from the other room, carting a shoebox labeled "silverware" and announcing, "Success! They ended in the living room somehow." Then he spies the treat on the countertop, and says, "Ooh, pie!" as he sets the shoebox down next to it.

"Mmhmm," Charlotte confirms absently, frowning amusedly as he tears the packing tape from the box. "You packed your silverware in a shoebox?"

Cooper shrugs, tugs the top off to reveal spoons, and knives, and forks all thrown in together haphazardly. "Why not? They fit." He looks to Duke, and urges, "Back me up here. Smaller stuff, smaller box."

"Makes perfect sense to me," Duke confirms, takin' the knife Cooper passes his way and cuttin' into the pie. Cooper smiles smugly at her, then heads to the cupboard for the plates they've already unpacked.

Charlotte runs a hand over her belly and announces, "I'm so glad we're havin' a girl. Any more boy logic in this house, and I'd lose my mind."

"You didn't get immune to it growin' up with me and Landry?" Duke asks, takin' the plates from Cooper and plunking a piece of pie onto each one.

"Oh, I did," she assures, taking her plate, and a fork from Cooper, and adding, "But in the meantime, I've gotten used to a life ruled by order and logic, not testosterone and convenience."

"Better hope your next kid's not a boy, then," he teases, handing a plate to Cooper, who leans against the far side of the island as he eats. Duke settles into the stool next to Charlotte, as she rolls her eyes at him.

"Can we try to get this one kid into the world safely before we start talkin' about another?"

"Stay positive," Cooper reminds her, takin' a bite of pie and mutterin', "Wow, this is good."

"Right?" Charlotte takes her own bite — perfect, sweet, nutty bliss. God, she's missed this. She shovels in another bite just as soon as she's finished the first, and is struck with the realization that she could probably eat this whole pie herself in a day or so if she's not careful. She makes a mental note to force it on people over the weekend to avoid the glut of calories.

"I'd say you oughta try to march your asses down a church aisle before talkin' about another baby," Duke suggests, and they're back to this again?

Cooper's brows lift in surprise, and he glances to Charlotte. "We, uh… we haven't really talked about that yet."

"I know," Duke tells him, forking up more pie. "I'm bringin' it up so you can."

"Duke," Charlotte warns. "Enough. I don't even want to think about gettin' married until I'm back to a figure that looks good in a dress."

"Aw, come on," Cooper teases, givin' her one of those flirty smiles he's so good at. "I think you look great in dresses. That cute little bump-"

"No, thank you," she insists with a smile of her own. "We'll wait."

"I don't know, Charlie. I wouldn't wait to get hitched if I were you," her brother tries to persuade. "You do it while you're knocked up, it'd get you outta wearin' that awful weddin' dress again."

Charlotte's gaze shoots up to her baby brother, who has unfortunately just looked down at his pie. Cooper doesn't know about Billy yet, and this is not the way she wants him findin' out. "Duke," she says warningly, but he just barrels right ahead.

"Frankly, I can't believe you—"

"Duke," she tries again, but he's undeterred.

"Wore it to your first—"

"_Duke_."

"Weddin-"

"_Duke!_"

He finally looks up, then, but it's too damned late. The cat's already out of the bag.

"You were married before?" Cooper asks her, and Duke's mouth drops open a little bit. He is dumber than a damned rock.

"I swear, I'm stitchin' yours and Landry's mouths shut," Charlotte growls at her baby brother. Her baby brother she's about two seconds from knockin' upside the head.

"How was I supposed to know you hadn't told him?" Duke defends, although he's got that guilty puppy look, so he certainly knows he's done wrong.

"Can we go back to the part where you were _married_ before?" Cooper asks, and she can hear the anger risin' in his voice. Shit.

Charlotte still has her eyes on Duke, tellin' him, "Get out. Now."

"Yes'm," he mutters, takin' his pie and headin' out back. Charlotte watches him go.

The room is deathly silent until the patio door slides shut, and then Cooper starts in on her again, "You were—"

"Yes!" she answers, whirling to face him again. He's glowering furiously at her. Great. Just great. "I was married. But it was years ago, and I was young, and… it ended badly."

"And you never mentioned this, because?" he asks, each word bitten off in a clean stroke of anger.

"It's not exactly somethin' I talk about with strangers," she excuses, acutely uncomfortable with this conversation. She hates talkin' about Billy, hates even so much as thinkin' about Billy and what he did. It makes her gut churn and her heart hurt, makes her feel insecure and stupid and scorned. And it makes her think about everything that came after it. The hell, the guilt, the accident. The dead body.

"I'm not a stranger!"

"But you were," she reminds. "When this all started, you were. We were supposed to be casual. Nothin' but sex. So I certainly wasn't tellin' you about this big painful thing in my past, and then just when we were startin' to get serious, we broke up. Then the baby, and… it hasn't exactly been at the forefront of my mind, Coop."

He seems just slightly mollified by that, but he's certainly nowhere near calm. "Were you ever going to tell me, or were you just planning on spending our whole life together hoping nobody ever mentioned it?"

If she was being honest, she'd tell him that yes, she was hoping she could go their whole damned relationship without the specter of Billy ever rising up to haunt them. But that wouldn't help her at all in this, so she tries to convince him that, "Of course I would've. When it came up."

"When it came up?"

"Yes."

"And when exactly would that have been?"

"I don't know. When it seemed right." She's fightin' the urge to squirm under his scrutiny, and plottin' ways to make Duke suffer for his crime.

Cooper scoffs out a breath, then shakes his head, looking away for a second, then back at her. "I can't believe you didn't tell me this."

"I'm tellin' you now," she reasons, except it was absolutely the wrong thing to say, because she can literally see the anger rise back up a notch in his eyes.

"No, you're not telling me now." They've had this whole conversation with his fork still in his hand, but it clatters loudly to his plate now. "Your _brother _told me now. I guess if I want to know anything about you, I need to call Alabama, is that it?"

"Cooper, enough!" she sighs. "The timin' was never right to tell you, so I didn't. But now you know. What difference does it make, anyway? Plenty of people are divorced."

"The difference is," he begins slowly, "we have talked about trust, and about being honest, and not keeping things from each other, and there is this huge thing you never told me. That's the difference."

He's got her there, she has to admit. Still, she doesn't see why this has any effect on them at all. It's not like she's still married now. "It's the past," she insists. "It has nothin' to do with us."

"Yeah, it does, Charlotte." He shakes his head, pushing away from the island and stalking around toward her side. It's more a way to work off his agitation than anything threatening, so she's doesn't bother to raise her hackles in defense. If she stays calm, maybe she can keep him from completely blowin' a gasket. "It does, because you always do this. You keep secrets, and then you make excuses, and I have to sit here and wonder what bomb you're going to drop next."

"This isn't a bomb, Cooper. It's… a bump."

"It's something you kept from me."

"Well, now you know!" she blurts, before takin' a breath to rein herself back in. "Okay? I'm sorry. Maybe I should've told you sooner, but I didn't. And now you know."

"Yeah," he mutters bitterly. "Now I know."

Something in the way he says it sets her on edge, makes her worry that this is going to be an argument that lingers past tonight. "Would it have changed things if you'd known from the start?"she asks him carefully, not sure she wants to know the answer.

"No," he tells her quietly. "No, it wouldn't have changed anything if you'd told me when we met. You said it yourself: plenty of people are divorced, Charlotte."

"Then why does it have to change anything now?"

"Because you kept it from me," he says, like he's having to spell out something that should be obvious. And then something in his expression shifts, becomes less angry, more sad. "And because, I don't know, neither of us have a lot of firsts with each other. I guess I thought maybe I'd get to be your first _something_. Apparently not."

It's such a ridiculous statement that she almost can't process it, but she does, and she sneers, stands and presses his hand to the round curve of her belly. "We have a first, Cooper. We made a baby together, or have you forgotten?" He's lookin' down at her belly, frowning, and after a second his fingers curl gently against her. "So maybe you're not my first husband, but you have somethin' with me that nobody else has ever — or will ever — have. So can this _please_ just not matter?"

He's quiet for a minute, and when he finally speaks, it's to say, "I'm going upstairs for a while."

He steps around her, and Charlotte's heart sinks. He's bailing.

"Cooper."

She reaches for his arm, but he evades her. "Charlotte, don't. I'm not leaving you, I'm not going to Violet's, I'm just going upstairs. I need to be not in this room right now. I need to not be looking at you right now. I need some space."

There's nothing she can do but give it to him, so she watches him head for the living room and the front stairwell. There's a heavy, anxious pit in her stomach, and there's nothing he'll let her do to rectify it. Not tonight.

Her only option now is to go push her brother down the side of this goddamned mountain they live on.


	66. Chapter 66

"Couldn't just keep your mouth shut, could ya?" she says in lieu of greeting as she walks out into their sliver of a back yard and slides the kitchen door shut behind her.

Duke has his last bite of pie halfway to his mouth, and he pauses, frowns at her and says, "How was I supposed to know you'd never told him?" before taking it.

He's in one of the chaise chairs, and she takes a few steps toward him intending to settle into the other, but then she decides this particular scolding is more effective when she can look down on him, so she stops next to him, crosses her arms and does just that.

"Gee, I'd think maybe the four times I said your name mighta been a good clue."

"Four times in like thirty seconds," he excuses, and her brows shoot up.

"Exactly," she says. "My urgency did nothin' for ya? You thought maybe I just like the sound of your name that much, is that it?"

"Alright, I'm sorry," he mutters, shifting uncomfortably. "I figured a guy you're livin' with would know somethin' like that."

"Yeah, well he didn't. But now he does, and now he's pissed, Duke, and I swear it's like we can't go a month without some kind of hiccup." She's losing her fight, in large part because Duke is right, it was a fair assumption under the circumstances, and the only person she should really be mad at right now is herself. She's done glowering, she decides, so she rounds his chaise and eases herself into the empty one with a sigh and an, "And I'm always the one messin' things up."

"Doubt that," Duke mutters, setting his plate and fork on the ground.

"Nah, it's true," she sighs, shutting her eyes and weaving her fingers together over her belly. "We broke up right before I found out about the baby, because I opened a practice a floor below his and somehow he can't see that it had nothin' to do with him, it was just a good business opportunity. He was so pissed - or, y'know, betrayed, I guess - that even when he found out about the baby, he wasn't sure he wanted to try again, with me."

"Bastard," Duke mutters under his breath, and Charlotte realizes how what she's just said could come across, and cringes.

"He wanted to be there for the baby," she assures. "He loves babies. But me, us, y'know, he wasn't sure about that. And then he seemed to be comin' around, and Big Daddy passed, and he came to Monroeville, and then Landry opened his big mouth and mentioned the family curse, and he was furious again. Because I hadn't told him. And he got over it, because I was miserable and he felt sorry for me, and then he found out his best friend was pregnant and he wanted to move in with her, and I flipped my lid-"

"Well, that's sure as hell not your fault," her brother chimes in, and she nods, then tells him that lettin' the pregnancy slip to one of the baby's potential fathers and the resulting blow-out from that might've been. "Wait - one of?"

"Oh, don't even get me started. Unprotected sex w/ two different guys, no idea who the daddy is, and in no hurry to find out. And why should she be? She has Cooper fallin' over himself to help her," Charlotte mutters bitterly, despite the fact that she's at least managed to snare Cooper into living with her.

"Wow." Duke smirks. "You've got our own little soap opera goin' on out here in La-la Land, huh?"

She raises her brows and then drops them, a nonverbal agreement.

"Sounds like he always comes around, though."

He's right, and it's a fact she takes comfort in, but still, she sighs and says, "Yeah, but for how long? He's gotta have a limit, right?"

"Well, then here's a little brotherly advice: think of everything you're holdin' close to the chest, and fess up. Rip it off like a Band-Aid, Charlie."

"Really?" she damned near sneers. "That's your advice? Share? Open your mouth and spill all your business? Because I sure as hell know that's not your relationship strategy."

"No, but I'm not the one who keeps pissin' off my baby daddy." Fair point, that. "I'd tell ya to load up on some liquid courage first to ease the way, but considerin' your current situation that's probably not a good idea."

"Mm," she agrees. "Ain't that a damn shame."

The conversation lulls for a minute, and they sit there in silence, Looking out over the lights of the houses below. And then Duke asks her, "Is he worth it?"

"Yeah," she says softly. "He is. When he's not makin' me want to tear my hair out, he's... great. I'm crazy about him."

"Yeah, crazy sounds like just about the right word," Duke teases, and Charlotte reaches over and whaps him on the bicep for the barb. "What?" he chuckles. "You tellin' me I'm wrong?"

"No," she admits begrudgingly. "This whole thing is crazy. But it's what I want."

"Well, then don't worry another hair over it," he assures confidently.

"Why not?"

"Because, Charlie," he tells her with a grin. "You always get what you want."


	67. Chapter 67

Cooper never came back downstairs the night before, and by the time she went to bed, he was already there, curled on his side with his back toward her. Whether he was genuinely asleep, she wasn't sure, but he might as well have been. Charlotte hadn't been able to settle down and sleep for nearly two hours after she crawled in next to him, too preoccupied with yet another way she'd managed to screw up in this relationship. When she'd finally gotten to sleep, it had been fitful and restless, so that when the alarm goes off in the morning, she's groggy and headachy, and can't resist punching the snooze button. Twice.

As a result, Cooper is already showered and brushing his teeth by the time she stumbles to the bathroom. She looks at him through bleary eyes, reaching for the cup next to her sink and filling it with cold water. She keeps wakin' up thirsty these days.

Cooper watches her in the mirror, and she meets his gaze, their eyes lock as she gulps down the whole glass, sucks in a breath when she sets the cup back on the countertop. She can't read him, can't tell what he's thinkin' and it's unnerving.

She tries for civil. "Mornin'."

"Morning," he greets, evenly. He looks at her again for a second, and then says, "You should've told me. But you're right, it doesn't really change anything, and you shouldn't be stressed out right now. So I'm letting it go."

Charlotte feels the knot of anxiety she's been carrying since the night before start to unravel, and finally feels like she can breathe properly again. The relief rushes out of her in a heavy breath, and she tells him, "Thank you."

Cooper nods, then reaches over and squeezes her hand. "You alright? You look a little pale." He's being sweet, but it seems just a little forced, a little hollow. Right now, she'll take it.

"Didn't sleep well," she admits. "I feel like crap."

He reels her in slowly, hand over hand up her arm, then presses a kiss to her brow. "Take the morning off."

"I can't. You know that."

"Take the morning, and work later tonight," he reasons, and she leans back and lifts a brow at him. It's not like him to encourage her to work a late night.

"Are _you_ feelin' okay?"

"I'd rather you work later with more rest, than be overtired the whole time you're there. You'll work the same number of hours anyway. Just work late at the hospital."

"What if they need me?" she reasons. "Somethin' goes wrong, the Chief of Staff needs to be there."

"Okay, then take an extra hour," he tries. "Just an hour. Go back to bed, set the alarm, and get up in an hour."

She wants to tell him no, but her eyes feel gritty and sore from lack of sleep, and her limbs all feel a few pounds too heavy. An extra hour sounds heavenly right now. "Alright," she relents. "But if I don't pee in the next minute, we're gonna need a new rug. So get out."

Cooper laughs, kisses her forehead again, and lets her go, retreating to the bedroom.

Charlotte feels like she's dodged a bullet, been let off light, but she can't shake the tiniest squirm of anxiety that this isn't an issue that will go so quietly into the night.


	68. Chapter 68

"Why are you doing this?" he asks her.

It's been less than twenty-four hours, and she's been proven right. Hell, they didn't even make it to the end of the day. Cooper's been home for approximately ten minutes, and they're already fighting. It's not about them this time, but she can't help thinking that his lingering ire at her revelation from last night is fueling this particular fire as well.

"Coop, can we not bring our work home?"

He sneers at her, shakes his head. "That's your response? I ask you why a twelve year old girl has to suffer for a surgery that probably won't even buy her that much extra time, a surgery she wouldn't have to be having if you hadn't stuck your nose in where it didn't belong-"

"I didn't 'stick my nose in;' I did my job," Charlotte interjects, hackles good and up now, but Cooper doesn't even pause to listen.

"And your response is to ask if we can leave our work at the door?"

Annie Bishop. Twelve years old, and fightin' to stay on this mortal coil. Barnes had come to her today, arguing that Cooper and her parents were compromising her health unnecessarily, and Charlotte had brought in a judge, and shut the whole thing down. It was the right decision, for now, but not an easy one for any of them. And now she's paying for it.

"We disagree on things, Cooper. I don't want to have to worry that when I get home at the end of the day, I'm gonna have to go several rounds over a call I made at work."

She has more to say, but he interrupts with, "Then don't make stupid calls," and she feels her blood burn. However much she loves this man, he sure knows how to get under her skin.

"I didn't make a stupid call," she tells him darkly, trying to keep her voice even, but unable to tamp down the irritation. "I made the right call."

"Right for who?" he challenges.

Charlotte takes a deep breath and tries to explain crap she shouldn't have to justify in the first place. "Legally speaking-"

"No, screw 'legally speaking,' Charlotte. Don't do this. Don't talk to me like I'm just some doctor and-"

"Damnit, Cooper, it's my _job_!" It's a louder outburst than she'd planned, but damnit she's had it with this conversation, with him puttin' it all on her like she's some horrible villain instead of a woman just trying to do what she gets paid to do. "I have to make decisions like this, whether or not my boyfriend likes them - whether or not I like them. The law is very clear on this issue. Annie's parents have no right to deny her treatment just because it's easier on everyone."

"They're her _parents_," he argues, like being a parent trumps everything on Earth.

"And we're her doctors," she reminds, but it's a misstep, because he's shaking his head immediately.

"No. I am her doctor. Barnes is her doctor." He points an accusatory finger in her direction as he tells her, "_You_ are not her doctor."

He has her there, technically, but it doesn't really kill her argument. She's not the only one on her side of this.

"Well, Noah, as her doctor, feels the surgery is in her best interest, and I agree. And so does the judge. It's out of our hands, Cooper. Even if I wanted to change my mind now, I couldn't. The judge ruled, it's done, now can we _please_ leave our work at the door." She plays her trump card, the one she knows will get him to back off: "I'm supposed to be takin' it easy, and it's awfully hard to do that when we're fightin'."

Sure enough, he gives in, letting out a sigh and looking frustrated. "Fine. But I'm still pissed."

"You've made that abundantly clear."

"What time is Duke coming over?"

It's a neutral subject, but it doesn't take any of the simmering edge out of his voice. Still, she's grateful for the change in topic, so she answers, "I told him dinner's at eight. He's gonna bring my last few boxes, crash here for the night, and head out after breakfast tomorrow."

"Fine."

She doesn't know what to say to that - doesn't know how to steer them into a better area. The baby kicks - she's been doing it for the last few minutes, Charlotte realizes, no doubt stirred up by the heightened emotions, the raised voices, the angry beat of Charlotte's heart. Charlotte has the sudden urge to shush her, to soothe, to murmur that it's fine, it was just a spat and she can settle back down. It's so ridiculously maternal she doesn't quite know what to do with herself, so she keeps her mouth shut and runs a hand over her belly, focuses on slowing her breathing, relaxing her heartbeat. Calming down for the two of them.

After a few minutes, the baby has settled into the occasional lazy somersault, and Cooper and Charlotte still haven't said a word.

And then, finally, he tells her, "I'm going to Violet's. Don't wait up."

Charlotte's mouth draws into a scowl, and she asks, "What about Duke?"

"I'll say goodbye at breakfast," he mutters on his way out of the room.

This time, Charlotte doesn't protest.

Maybe tonight it's for the best.


	69. Chapter 69

"She was married."

"I know."

"_Married_."

"I heard you the first-"

"MARRIED."

"I _know_, Cooper!" Violet repeats, exasperated. Cooper is pacing a hole into her kitchen floor, bitching mercilessly about Charlotte and the last few days. He'd already brought up the marriage thing this morning, but he'd been at least trying to be diplomatic about it then. Laying out Charlotte's reasoning, telling Violet how she said they weren't that close yet, and she'd been busy with the baby stuff and not really thinking about being divorced, and how she didn't think it was a big deal. He'd obviously been upset about it, but nothing like he was now. It seems Charlotte's second transgression in as many days was what really sent Cooper over the edge, and now he's here, all worked up, and railing on his girlfriend in her absence. Violet figures he needs a few minutes to really let loose, so she stays parked serenely at her kitchen island with a mug of tea between her hands, and lets him go on unchecked.

"She was married, and she never bothered to tell me, and I _forgave her_, and how does she repay me? She goes and forces Annie Bishop into living in this hell for the rest of her short, young life, and it's like she has no regard for anybody's feelings but her own!" He balls his fists, unclenches, clenches again. "I hate her tonight, I hate her so friggin' much, Violet, and you know what makes it even worse?"

"What?"

"I feel _bad_ about it," he says, the words dripping with self-loathing. "I do. I hate her, and it makes me feel guilty, because she's my girlfriend, and she's pregnant with our kid, and what kind of guy am I if I hate her right now?"

"You can hate her for an hour or two," Violet assures him, calmly. "It doesn't make you a bad guy, it just makes you... a mad guy. You're mad. You're allowed. But you also have to consider where she's coming from."

Cooper blinks, stops pacing, stares her down. "…You're not seriously going to take her side."

"No, I'm not," Violet begins carefully, knowing she has to tread lightly here, and wondering why she's even remotely trying to defend the woman who's made her life so difficult. But encouraging Cooper won't help him calm down any, so she commits to being the voice of reason — at least a little bit. "But she's Chief of Staff, she has to consider the legal ramifications of-"

"You're taking her side!" he accuses, raised voice smacking of betrayal.

"I'm not taking her side," Violet reiterates, shifting her mug, lifting it, adjusting her grip. "I'm saying that if she does her job and doesn't make exceptions or bend the rules, then sometimes we and our patients get the short end of the stick. We hate it, but I think she's proven there's not much we can really do about it. And if that's what she did now, you can hate her all you want for a few hours, but eventually you're going to have to take a breath and go home to her, and recognize that today you're the doctor who lost."

He's silent for a minute, staring at her, breath still coming in quick, rage-filled passes. Then he says, "She should've made an exception today."

"Probably."

"Barnes can go fuck himself."

Violet lets out a chuckle despite her best judgement and shakes her head sympathetically, telling him, "Yeah, it sounds like he really screwed everyone over today." She sips her tea, swallows, then adds, "But who knows? Maybe it'll work out. Maybe the surgery will buy Annie enough time to-"

"Don't," he waves her off, collapsing onto the stool next to her, energy spent. "Don't try to buoy my hopes. She's not going to get better, and everyone involved knows it. Barnes just wants to cut. He wants to follow the protocol regardless of what it does to the patient, and Annie's paying the price for all of it."

Violet settles a hand on his back, rubs slowly, soothingly between his shoulder blades. "I know. I'm sorry."

"She doesn't deserve this, Vi," he insists quietly, and she can see the helpless heartbreak all over him.

There's nothing she can do to make this better, she knows, so she just sits with him, giving him all the time he needs to feel raw, and betrayed, and to work himself down to a place where he can head back to his own place for the night. It takes a long time, but eventually, he leaves the shelter of her place and heads back to the Palisades.


	70. Chapter 70

By the time Cooper gets home, Charlotte is already in bed, reading. She hears the garage door open and close, and sighs, doubling her focus on her book. She's not sure what kind of mood he's in, so she figures it's safer to let him come to her. He doesn't right away, though.

In fact, she makes it through another half of a chapter before she hears, "What was his name?"

Charlotte looks up from her book, and frowns. "What?"

"Your husband. What was his name?"

He's still simmering, standing just inside the bedroom door, and Charlotte looks away, back down at her book. "I'm not discussin' this with you if you're still mad." And she's not having this argument with him while her brother's sacked out just down the hall, within hollering range.

Cooper lets out an irritated sigh, and stalks to the bed. He parks his butt on the edge, and the mattress jostles slightly. And then he reaches out, catches her unprepared and plucks the book from her fingers, haphazardly folding the edge of the page over as he shuts it and drops it unceremoniously onto the nightstand. Charlotte raises her chin, glares sharply at him, and says, "I was readin' that." She's silently grateful - and slightly bewildered - that he at least bothered to mark her page.

"I want to talk to you."

"Funny, because it sounds like you wanna fight with me."

She watches him suck in a breath, and let it out slowly. Visibly trying to rein himself in. "How about now?" he asks her, and while he sounds calmer, she doesn't buy it. Or, at the very least, he's not the kind of calm she needs him to be for this particular conversation.

But then she hears Pete in her head, advising her to just tell Cooper what she needs now and then and maybe she'll get it. She hears Duke telling her to just come out with all of it, and maybe it'll help. So she makes a decision.

"His name was Billy," she concedes. "And I don't want to talk about him tonight." Cooper lets out another frustrated sigh, and she raises a hand to hold him off. "Hear me out. My marriage fallin' apart led to a particularly... _dark_ time in my life, and I don't like to talk about it. But I will. Just not tonight."

He rolls his eyes. "You sure you're not going to tell me that every night for the rest of-"

"I'm sure," she cuts him off with a slow nod of her head. "I'm not. But if we talk about Billy, we're gonna end up talkin' about what happened after Billy, and I can't do that if you're mad at me."

"I'm not -"

"Cooper," she chides. "You are. And not just about this. You're pissed about Annie Bishop, and you're pissed about Billy, and I can't have this conversation if you already think I'm awful. I need to know you're not gonna..." She trails off, shakes her head slightly. She doesn't even know how to talk about talking about this; she has no idea how she's going to actually have this conversation when it happens. But now she's roped herself into it, so she tells him, "But I promise - I _promise_ - we can talk about all of it. When we've had some time to cool down."

"I'm holding you to that," he tells her.

"I wouldn't expect anything less."

And then they're stuck there. Him staring at her, her staring back at him. He's trying his damnedest not to look as angry as he is; she's hoping he can see she means it when she says she'll give him what he wants, just not yet. It's a painful, awkward, tense stalemate, and when Cooper finally breaks it, it doesn't make things any better: "Annie deserves to live the life she wants. She's already been through so much, and-"

"Cooper, it's done," Charlotte sighs, weary now. She can't go another round about Annie Bishop. "My hands are tied now; it's done. Please, stop tryin' to convince me to change somethin' that's already happened."

He turns his head, wrings his hands together, and shuts up. He's still miserable about everything; she can see it in the hunch of his shoulders, the tension in his arms, the way his jaw clenches. And there's nothing she can do tonight to fix anything that's weighing on him. Not really.

They lapse into silence again for a few torturous moments, and it's maddening. She can't take it anymore. They can't talk to each other, but this terse silence isn't the answer either, so she suggests something else: "You wanna talk to the baby?"

He'd been brooding in the general direction of the floor for about thirty seconds or so, but he looks up at her now, and the corner of his mouth lifts into something that's almost reminiscent of a smirk. Progress. "I thought you said she can't hear me yet."

Charlotte lifts a shoulder, lets it fall, and smiles at him. "Maybe she's special."

"Do you think that having me talk to the baby will make me forget that I'm-"

"I think it'll make you feel better," she tells him, interrupting because she has no interest in another verbal reminder of how much bad blood she's stirred up between them. "And I want you to feel better. So if you wanna talk to her, or…" she trails off, shrugs her shoulders, and offers, "Whatever you want. My belly's all yours."

His answer is to crawl over her and stretch out crosswise on the bed, tugging the covers down until they bunch at the top of her thighs and settling his head there so he's face-to-face with her round belly. He slides her shirt up, and Charlotte nudges his hand away, lifts the hem herself and settles it just below her breasts. She folds her hands there to hold the shirt in place, then shuts her eyes, tips her head back, settles her shoulders more comfortably into the pillows propped behind her. This isn't about her, she tells herself. This is about peacemaking, and she hasn't been great for his peace of mind the last few days, so she's going to sit here, and breathe, and let him get as close to his daughter as he can manage without Charlotte getting in the way. No snarky comments, no squirming, none of it.

He shifts in closer, until his nose is brushing her skin, and starts to murmur softly to the baby. He says hello, says he loves her, that he can't wait to meet her, that she needs to hurry it up already with the growing so that he can feel her kicks, so she can hear his voice. He says he can't wait until their next appointment, until he can hear her heartbeat again, and get another good look at her. When he kindly requests that she just give that pesky placenta a good nudge out of the way, Charlotte can't help but smirk. If only.

Cooper talks to Harper, and Charlotte lets his voice lull her, staring at the back of her eyelids, until she feels like she's floating. Like her body is somewhere else, and all she can focus on is her breath, and his voice, and then nothing at all as she slips effortlessly into sleep.


	71. Chapter 71

Charlotte and Cooper are still tepid at best by Wednesday, so Pete takes pity on her and asks Charlotte if she wants to join him for dinner. Just to get out of the house for a while. She takes him up on it without hesitation, and they spend the evening filling themselves on Chinese food and conversation. Pregnancy discussion is off the table - this isn't a business dinner - but after a while, relationships manage to make their way onto the docket.

It happens during a lull in conversation. Pete is chewing a mouthful of Mongolian beef, while Charlotte moves the remnants of her Chinese chicken salad around her plate. "Thanks for this," she offers kindly. "I really did need an excuse to be out of the house, and the idea of workin' another few hours was… tempting, but tiring. But goin' home to Cooper right now is… hard. He's comin' around, I think, but we're supposed to have this big conversation, and every night we don't have it, he seems to get more and more annoyed with me. And he's already annoyed with me."

"No problem," he tells her after he swallows, but he might as well not have bothered. She's still in the middle of her own little conversation. He figures she doesn't do a lot of talking, at least not about her personal life, so he lets her vent a little while longer.

"Truth be told, I'm annoyed with me, too. It's like just when I think everything is goin' well again - smooth sailing, we've worked this crap out - it all goes to hell in a handbasket. We made it less than twenty-four hours before it all blew up in my face again."

"Well, you were keeping something pretty major from him."

Charlotte glares at him. Now, she's paying attention.

"You _were_," Pete reiterates. Because, come on, she can't really think Cooper doesn't have a license to be angry about her keeping her marriage a secret. He can sort of see both sides of the Annie Bishop argument, but the marriage… he likes to think he'd be open minded about that sort of thing, having been married once himself, but at the same time, he's pretty sure he'd be at least a little bit irked if it took several months, an accidental pregnancy, and a loose-lipped brother for that sort of thing to come up.

"It wasn't his business," Charlotte defends. "And it had nothin' to do with us."

"Really? Your marriage falling apart has nothing to do with your relationships?"

He watches the annoyance flash across her face, before she clips, "Pete, if I wanted my head shrunk, I'd go see your babymama."

"Possible babymama," he corrects, and an expression flickers across Charlotte's face that he can't quite decipher. It's like she's thought of something, and was unable to get her poker face in place soon enough. Ordinarily he'd let it go, but since it happened after a reference to Violet and the baby, he presses it this time. "What?"

"What what?"

"You know something," he accuses lightly, and she looks away for a split second, before looking him in the eye and telling him she doesn't know what he's talking about. If it wasn't for that sideways glance she'd have sold it. She knows something. "Charlotte, if you know something about Violet and the baby-"

"I don't."

"You're sure?"

She waits just a second too long before answering, "Yes."

"Charlotte," he pleads. "Violet won't tell me anything; she keeps me and Sheldon at a distance - except when she's telling us we should feel free to be as involved as we want. Which would be great if I actually knew the kid was mine, but I don't. So if you know something-"

"I don't know anything," she insists again, a little bit more believably. And then she adds, "I just know the possibility of somethin'," and Pete stills.

"What?"

Charlotte takes a deep breath, blows it out, shakes her head a little like she can't believe she's doing this, and spills, "I overheard somethin' I wasn't supposed to. About the possibility of Violet gettin' the CVS test without tellin' the two of you, and decidin' in her own sweet time whether she wanted to do the paternity tests."

Pete's blood runs cold. "She what?"

"I'm not sayin' she did anything," Charlotte denies. "I just know it was discussed. Cooper went mum on the subject - he was afraid I'd tell you." He gets a hint of that personal annoyance she was talking about earlier when she adds, "And apparently rightfully so." She takes a breath and adds, "So I don't know if she did it or not, but... she might've. I figure her doctor is at your practice, and y'all share every damned thing with each other. Shouldn't be too hard to figure out. You wanna know if that baby she's carryin' is yours... look into that."

Pete's torn between a ray of optimism and blind, seething anger. It was bad enough that Violet was being so stubborn about the CVS test, that she was showing such blatant disregard for his and Sheldon's feelings, that she can't find a way to see things from their point of view, and see how not knowing whether to step up or step back was excruciating… But if she capped all that off with a calculated deception - if she did, and lied, and could have already put them out of their misery about this whole thing but has chosen not to… Just the thought has his blood pressure rising.

"Oh, believe me, I will," he mutters, reaching for his green tea and drinking, wishing he'd gotten something a little stronger considering this latest bombshell.

"And when you do, you won't say a damned thing to her about it, because if you do, it will be my ass in the fire - again - not yours, and I do not have the time, the patience, or the heart for another blow-out fight with Cooper right now."

"I won't say anything about you," Pete assures, setting his cup back down.

"No, you won't say anything _at all_," she insists. "Because whether you say my name or not, she'll know, or she'll assume, and then Cooper will badger me, and - And why do you even need to tell her anyway? If she did the test, you run the DNA against yours and you know. You either commit or bow out; she never has to be the wiser."

"So I should lie so she can keep lying?" he asks, disbelievingly. Like hell. If he finds out that's his baby, and she's been keeping it from him - or at least keeping the possibility of knowing from him - he's going to have some serious words with Violet Turner.

"No, you should keep it to yourself because I was kind enough to tip you off, and as my doctor you'd like my home life to remain as soothing as possible - something that won't be possible if Cooper thinks I went behind his back and blabbed his business again." For a moment, they're at a stalemate. Then, she adds, "I told you because you're a friend."

Pete makes a face. "You told me because your poker face slipped."

She looks at him shrewdly then, green eyes narrowed. "My poker face doesn't slip, Pete," she says carefully, and he realizes he was manipulated right into this conversation. Or at least, she gave him the opening to ask about the thing she wasn't allowed to volunteer on her own. Charlotte King: Master Manipulator. And if she walked him straight into it at the first obvious opportunity, it must have been bothering her for a while, so he decides to take pity on her and her sticky situation and relent. He can suppress his ire for a little while longer - for her sake, and the baby's, and Cooper's.

"Fine. If I find something, we'll run the DNA against mine, and I won't mention it."

She lets out a breath, her shoulders relaxing visibly, and then she nods, and says, "Good. Thank you."

"I should probably be thanking you," he says, although the last thing he feels right now is grateful.

And then she cracks a smile at him, shrugs nonchalantly and jokes, "Probably, yeah." She looks down at the plate in front of her, spears a piece of chicken with her fork, then says, "Let me know what you find out," and pops it in her mouth.

"You care?"

One shoulder jerks in a shrug, and as she finishes chewing, she answers, "About the baby? Nah."

"Then what?"

She looks up at him, then says carefully, "I don't have a glut of friends. I appreciate the ones I do have."

It takes him a second to catch her meaning, but when he does, he smiles. She cares about _him_. "I'll let you know what I find out."

She grows uncomfortable, looks him over another time and mutters, "Don't let it go to your head, Wilder," with all the vitriol she can muster.

Pete just chuckles at her.

"What?" she asks sourly.

"Y'know, it's okay to be nice to me in private. I won't tell."

Charlotte fights a smile, rolls her eyes and grabs her napkin, still pristine, unused. She balls it up and tosses it at him, and it bounces off his shirtfront and lands perfectly into his tea. Clearly that wasn't what she had intended, because her eyes go a little wider and she lets out one of her rare genuine laughs.

"Thanks," he mutters, fishing it out with a smirk and shake of his head.

Charlotte's grin is a mile-wide now, and she lets her brows rise and fall in apology or mockery - he's not really sure which. Either way, Pete thinks if they can manage to get her laughing, they really ought to keep up these mid-week dinner dates. If nothing else, this week's was very enlightening.


	72. Chapter 72

Charlotte's plan to give them each time to cool down before having The Big Talk isn't going as well as she'd hoped. The problem is, Cooper isn't exactly the cool-down type. He's the obsessive, silent, stewing type, apparently, because despite the fact that they haven't spoken a single word about her marriage or divorce since she asked him to wait it out a few nights ago, it's been in the room with them ever since. He keeps giving her this look, like he wants to say something, and then he doesn't. He just gets moody, and sullen, and either immerses himself in a DVR marathon of American Bake Off (again, for the millionth time), or decides he's going to meet Violet for dinner. Or drinks. Or to talk about patients.

By Friday, Charlotte decides this isn't working, and it's time to bite the bullet. She leaves work early to ensure she'll be home when he gets off, and then she parks herself on the living room sofa - the first thing he'll see when he walks in the door - and waits.

She doesn't have to wait long.

Less than fifteen minutes after she arrives home, she hears the rumble of the garage door. Shortly after that, the muffled thunk of his car door closing. When he walks into the house, he looks predictably bewildered. "Hey," he greets. "Is everything okay? You usually work later than this."

"Yeah, everything's fine," she assures, shifting slightly, so she can bring her legs up onto the sofa with her. "I just wanted to talk to you. Figured I'd give us plenty of time."

His face goes all apologetic, and hesitant, but she can see the hint of annoyance beneath the surface. "I'm meeting Violet for dinner," he tells her almost reluctantly. "I just stopped home to change my shirt; I dripped mustard on this one at lunch." He gestures, and sure enough, there's a smudgey yellow stain marring the lighter strips of plaid. "Can it wait?"

"You've had dinner with Violet three times this week," Charlotte points out, and Cooper makes his usual, put-upon, why-are-you-ragging-on-me-for-spending-time-with-Violet face.

His tone is a tad less cordial when he tells her, "She's my best friend; she's going through a hard time. And no, I haven't. I've had dinner with her twice and -"

"Cooper," Charlotte cuts him off. She makes sure to look him in the eye when she says, pointedly, "I'm ready to talk to you."

The change in phrasing is enough to get her point across, and Cooper pauses, his mouth drawing into a frown. "Oh," he says. "Okay, I'll, uh... I'll call her and cancel. And change my shirt. Just give me a minute."

Charlotte lets one brow rise quizzically. "You need to change your shirt to talk to me?"

"No," he draws out. "But I need to call Violet, and I figured two birds, less mustard."

She smirks a little at that, and concedes. "Fine. I'll be here."

He fishes out his phone, and heads for the stairs, and the low hum of anxiety Charlotte has been feeling up until this point starts to amp up higher. Every second he's gone stretches longer, and longer, and she just wants to get this whole damned thing over with. Harper moves inside her, and Charlotte settles a hand over her bump, reminds herself to take a breath, stay calm. She can talk about this. She talked about it in rehab, she's talked about it in meetings. She can certainly talk about it with the man she's made a child with. The man who loves her. Except when he thinks she's a horrible liar, and really if that gets him all in knots, what's he going to think about all this? She wishes lying was the worst thing she's ever done, but it is so very far from it.

And then those long, intolerable minutes are over, and Cooper is settling next to her on the sofa, and Charlotte is wishing he'd taken a little longer. Maybe she could go get a glass of water, earn herself a few more minutes' reprieve... No. That's stupid. And cowardly.

_Enough_, she scolds herself. _Stop being a wimp. Just spit it out and get it over with._

"So," she begins slowly. "You want to know about my marriage."

"I do," he confirms, turning to face her more fully and setting his elbow on the back of the sofa, propping his head up with a fist against the side of his head.

"Okay," she says softly, her voice stronger when she follows up with, "Then I'm gonna talk, and I want you to listen. And not talk. Just let me... get it all out."

He agrees with an _okay_, then gestures openly to the air between them. "Get it out. I'll hold all comments and questions til the end."

He's going for charming and funny - interesting how as soon as she's agreed to open up the way he wants, the irritation he's been holding over her for days seems to melt away. She's torn between being grateful and not particularly appreciating the swing in demeanor.

She takes a deep breath through her nose, intent on getting this started so she can get to the end. But she doesn't. Her tongue feels vacuumed to the roof of her mouth, stuck there, unable to form words. Unable to explain this part of herself to him. This is the part of herself she tries her best to never have to explain to anyone.

The silence stretches between them, and she can feel the veneer of cool control she's been trying to keep up begin to drop away, replaced by frustration with herself. She opens her mouth, closes it again, then lets out a breath and mutters, "Sorry, I just..." She shakes her head a little to clear it or psyche herself up or something. Anything.

Cooper offers her a benevolent smile and says, "It's okay. Take your time."

Something about it grates at her and she finds herself glaring at him. "Do you have to be so damned kind and supportive all of a sudden?"

Cooper's brows raise. "Would you rather I was yelling at you?"

Charlotte snaps her mouth shut, presses her lips together, then shakes her head, and mutters, "No. I wouldn't. It's just a far cry from the Cooper I've been livin' with the past few days - it's unnerving."

"I want you to trust me," he explains with a small shrug. "You said you couldn't talk about this with me if I was mad at you, so I'm being nice."

Charlotte's eyes narrow, her head tilting to the side as she questions, "So you're just buyin' my confidence with an encouraging smile?"

That smile fades, slipping into a scowl. There's the Cooper she's been expecting. "No, I want-"

"For me to think I can trust you," she finishes for him, and his frown draws even deeper.

"No, I want for you to _actually_ trust me," he says, his frustration mounting. "You told me what you need so you can give me what I need. I'm trying to give you that. I know you don't like to talk about stuff, but you can talk to me. You can tell me anything, as long as you _talk_ to me. Please. Trust me. This relationship is never going to work if you don't start trusting me."

Maybe he's right, she thinks. And maybe she's being ridiculous. Making this bigger than it has to be. Fussing over a confession like a child. Still, she's not sure she wants to watch him take all this in, so she draws a deep breath, focuses on the framed print on the far wall, just over his shoulder, and tells him, "Billy was the first man I ever loved. Stole my heart in high school, dated through college and med school, and got married right before we moved out here. Six months later... I caught him cheatin'. And I, uh..." She smirks, but it's not with any real pleasure. She's too sick with a slimy mixture of guilt, and anxiety, and shame to manage anything resembling humor. She clears her throat and continues, "I was pissed, hopped on the bed, and started whalin' on him right then and there." She ignores Cooper's quiet _I bet you did_ - apparently he can still find the humor in all this, although to be fair, he colored it with just enough sympathetic ire to be polite. "The girl he was with cracked me over the head with my grandmother's crystal vase, knocked me out..." He shifts a little, but she's not lookin' at him. She won't get through all this if she's lookin' at him. "I had a concussion, needed a few stitches... The doctor who treated me wrote me a scrip for oxy, for the pain."

He lets out a breath next to her, and she can tell just by that that he knows. He knows where this is going.

And she knows if she waits long enough, he'll put voice to it for her. He may have agreed to not talking, but they've already blown that all to hell, and she knows him. She knows he'll talk. And sure enough, he finally supplies, "That's when you started using."

She nods, slowly. "That's when it got bad. Six months later, I was takin' 'em every day, sweet talkin' that same doctor into writing me scrips every time the pills ran out. And he knew, he had to know. But I showed up for work every day, did my job, never made a mistake. I was... totally functional. Resigned to the idea that I'd ended up like my Momma. Gonna spend my life balancing everything I needed to do with needin' to dull everything with painkillers."

"So what changed?" he asks her gently, and Charlotte goes very still. She can count the number of people who know the honest answer to that question on one hand, and the majority of those people are bound by an agreement of anonymity. One of them - her Daddy - took the secret with him to the grave.

She loves Cooper more than anything, but she's not sure she can give him this.

"You really mean it?" she asks him, glancing in his direction, finally. "I can trust you? Tell you anything? You won't walk if you don't like what I have to say?"

"I won't walk," he promises, finding her hand with his. He squeezes, and she doesn't squeeze back - but she doesn't make any move to pull her hand away, either. She just looks down at her knee, and keeps talkin'.

"One night, I, um... I was drivin' home, in the rain. High. So high I couldn't keep my eyes open. I'd been out of pills, just gotten 'em refilled. Couldn't wait until I got home. The withdrawl was already kickin' in, and I thought-" She breaks off into a dry, humorless chuckle, and says something that sounds so completely backward it just emphasizes how far gone she'd been: "I thought I'd be a better driver on the pills than I'd be if I was all amped up and achey. But it had been a long day, and I was tired... It was late. I kept noddin' off. And I, uh..." He's tracing little swirls over the soft part of her hand, between thumb and forefinger and back again. It's distracting. Soothing. Unnerving. Rip it off like a band-aid, she tells herself. Just spit it out. So she rushes through the rest of her rock bottom, admitting, "I drifted into the other lane, other car swerved, missed me, crashed. The driver wasn't wearing her seatbelt. She went through the windshield and... died. I killed her."

She lets that land, lets it hang there between them, waiting to see what he has to say.

And what he has to say makes her feel even more wretched than she already does: "No, you didn't. She wasnt buckled. Her dying, that wasn't your fault, Char."

She chuckles dryly, without humor. "If I hadnt been high, her seatbelt wouldn't have mattered. She died because of me. And then I told the first responders she was drivin' erratically, and that I saw her crash and pulled over to help."

She can hear the self-loathing dripping from her own voice, and knows he can, too. It's bad enough she killed someone, but she followed it by covering her ass, and somehow that makes it all worse. Secures her the first class seat to hell.

"I knew if I got caught and they did a drug test, I'd go to jail, lose my job... I lied to protect myself, and... I got away with it. She died, and I got away with it. I called Big Daddy the next day and told him what I'd done, and he had my ass in rehab by the end of the week, but... It happened. And it all started because Billy cheated, so when you wonder why I didn't tell you I'd been married... It's because I didn't want to go back there. It was the hardest, ugliest, most shameful year of my life. I don't share it with just anyone... and I love you. I'm..." She's running the risk of goin' all sappy here, but she wants him to understand where she's coming from. "I really, really love you, Cooper. And I couldn't stand the thought of tellin' you the truth and losin' you, so I didn't tell you. It's somethin' I have to live with every day, but I don't like talkin about it. So I didn't. And I'm sorry."

He doesn't say anything right away, so she's stuck sitting there in the midst of her self-loathing, waiting for him to say something more. To call her a liar again, or tell her that the accident he can forgive, but covering it up, well, that's another story. But he doesn't say any of that. He just says, "Okay."

The hell?

"Okay?" Charlotte questions. "You're havin' a baby with a woman who killed someone and all you have to say is _okay_?"

"It was an accident," he says. Again. Like that absolves her or something.

"I took the pills on purpose," she reminds. "Got behind the wheel on purpose. Lied on purpose to protect myself and my job, and-"

"And you never meant to hurt anyone."

His kindness is suddenly unbearable, painful, making hot, stinging ears well in her eyes, and sending her voice all watery when she says, "But I did." She blinks hard, sniffs back against the tears - ridiculous. She made it this far without goin' all weepy, it's stupid for her to start cryin' now.

"And then you changed your life," Cooper reasons, drawing her attention back, weaving his fingers with hers. "You got clean, you help people, you save lives every day."

"I sign paperwork every day," she corrects. "And nothin I do now can undo what I did. But I'm done talkin' about it. I don't want to be havin' this conversation anymore." She draws her hand away from his, smoothes it over the material covering her thigh and tips her chin up to tell him, "You wanted to know. Now you know."

Cooper nods, and repeats, "Now I know." The only problem is, she doesn't know where to take them from there. She's sort of wishing she'd saved this for bedtime, because that hardly took any time at all, and now she's gotta spend the whole evening with him, knowing he knows her darkest secrets now. Knowning that when he looks at her, he'll know he's looking at someone who's carelessness and vices cost a woman her life. Just as she's thinking maybe she should send him off to Violet after all, give herself some time to take a long bath and clear her head a little bit, he asks casually, "You wanna order a pizza or something? I'm starving."

She looks up sharply at him. Did he really just ask that? "Are you serious?"

Is she dreaming this? Because she can't imagine this being the turn of conversation in any sort of real, waking world.

But it is.

"Yeah. I'm hungry." Charlotte has no idea what her face must look like right now, but whatever her expression is, it has Cooper shifting closer to her, lifting a hand to stroke her hair back and cup the back of her neck. He looks her square in the eyes, and his tone is anything but casual as he tells her, "I love you. I want to know you, all of you, even the parts you think are awful and unlovable, and I want to love those parts too. Everything you just told me... it's in the past. It doesn't change who you are, or how I feel about you. It doesn't touch us. And you said you don't want to talk about it anymore, so yes, I'm serious. Let's order a pizza and watch a movie, and keep it in the past."

Charlotte can't help herself. She lifts her brows, questions, "Killin' someone doesn't change anything but bein' secretly divorced was almost a deal breaker?"

"It wasn't almost a deal breaker, it was a disagreement," he says, and she's managed once again to make him go from that open-hearted, let-me-love-you Cooper face to the expression she's pretty sure he reserves for when he finds her particularly vexing. She should've just let it drop. He switches tactics all of a sudden, asking, "And do you really want to turn this into an argument? Or do you just want to accept that I can know this, and accept it, and love you anyway?"

How in the world is she supposed to just accept that?

"I don't-" She takes a breath. "I don't know how to-"

He cuts her off, shakes his head, and asks, "What do you want on your pizza?"

Charlotte blinks. "Extra cheese, sausage, and olives," she answers dumbly, still staring bewildered at him. He really is just going to let this drop, and order a pizza.

He reaches for his phone, dials, places their order (he makes a face when he asks for olives - then has the pizzeria put them on only one half), hangs up, and Charlotte is still staring. He catches her looking at him, and smiles. "What?"

Charlotte's not quite sure what to say. She settles on, "Thank you. For bein' okay with all this. For not considerin' it a deal breaker."

He shakes his head, leans in to kiss her and cut off anything else she might have said. Then he insists, "In the past," and pushes himself off the sofa, reaching his hands out to help her do the same.

"Now, come on," he urges. "We have movies to choose."

As she reaches for his hands, Harper moves again in her belly, and Charlotte decides that maybe, in light of everything that's happened to them lately, she should follow his lead and let the past be the past. She's living her amends, every day, and that's her thing, and that's fine. But when it comes to Cooper, if he can see past this part of her, she's going to do the smart thing for once, and keep her mouth shut and let him.


	73. Chapter 73

If you'd told Pete Wilder a year ago that he'd be spending his Tuesday mornings willingly working with Charlotte King - more than that, that he'd look forward to their appointments - he'd have called you a liar. Of course, he'd have said the same thing if you'd told him he'd be sitting by wondering if Violet was carrying his kid. And yet, here they are. Another bright and early Tuesday session with Charlotte stretched out on his massage table. She has a trouble spot on her back this week, and he's trying to slowly, steadily work through it.

She's been chatty today - things are going well for her and Cooper again, and while he's found he usually gets more out of her when she's fuming, today is one of those days she seems almost… chipper.

No.

That's not right. That's not a word one would associate with Charlotte King at all, ever. We'll go with personable, he decides. She's personable.

And now she's asking him questions.

"How'd the hunt go?"

Pete doesn't have to ask her to clarify. He knows exactly what she means — did he find anything about Violet and a secret CVS test.

He has to disappoint them both by denying with a simple, grumbled, "Mm." And then, "Failed. I couldn't find anything. I even stayed after hours and snuck into Addison's office to go through her private files." It's a reluctant admission, followed by, "Which, by the way, I feel guilty about, and it's all your fault."

Charlotte smirks guiltlessly, before smoothing her expression back into something more sympathetic. "And nothin'?"

"Nothing," he confirms.

She shrugs the shoulder not currently pinned to the massage table, and says, "Maybe it's for the best."

Pete frowns. "How do you figure?"

He presses against a tender spot, and she winces, closes her eyes and breathes in, then out, and then finally answers, "You seemed pretty pissed at the idea of her doin' it without ya. If she hasn't, that's a good thing, right?"

"Maybe," Pete concedes. He considers how blood-boilingly angry he'd have been if he'd actually found what he was looking for and decides that maybe, "Yeah." But what he really means is something closer to yes-and-no. "But part of me wishes she had. Then at least I'd know."

She makes a face - lifts her brow, frowns slightly in a way that seems to be sympathetic. And then he hits another corded knot of muscle, and she's wincing again, breathing slowly through the pain as he tries to ease the tightness.

It's a while before she speaks again, and when she does, she surprises him. "Do you love her?"

Pete blinks, pauses.

"What?"

"Violet," Charlotte says, as if that needed clarification. "You're havin' a kid with her, potentially. You work with her, you slept with her. Must've liked her, at least. So I'm askin' - Do you love her?"

It's a question Pete tries not to dwell on too much these days, considering the stasis he's stuck in. Feeling… whatever he feels about her won't do anything to alter the DNA in her belly, so he tells himself more often than not that he just shouldn't think about it. That ship seems to have sailed, or at the very least, pulled out of the harbor and far enough away he's not sure he wants to kill his arms chasing after it in a rowboat.

Charlotte's still waiting for an answer, so he tells her, "I don't know. Why?"

It's honest. Sort of.

She shrugs again. "I just figure if you love her, maybe you oughta go for it. Woo her. Win her over. Ply her with your magic hands," she adds with a smile. "Maybe then you can get her to spill her guts - or at least consider an amnio to put the man she loves out of his misery."

"What if it's not mine?" he asks. "Then I'm stuck, what? Loving her and helping her raise Sheldon's kid?"

He can almost feel her eye roll, and she's all confidence when she snarks, "Oh, come on. Between you and Sheldon, who do you think's packin' the manly man impregnatin' sperm? The kid's yours."

Pete laughs, shakes his head at her. "You don't know that."

She chuckles, then tells him, "Here's what I do know. Violet's been comfortable. She's had Cooper at her beck and call, and no reason to even think about dependin' on anyone else. Now he's livin' with me and we've talked out our issues, and he has no reason to use her to avoid me-" She detours, her voice simmering with an undercurrent of irritation when she adds, "except when he's pissed I'm not lettin' a little girl die on our watch." And then she's back to normal, advising him, "You have an openin', Pete. Take it. Swoop in. Do what you have to do to find out if this kid's yours. Better than sittin' around with your thumb up your ass, waitin' for her to change her mind."

"If what you're saying is true, I shouldn't have to wait long for her to reach out," he points out, although they both know that's not true. Violet's nothing if not stubborn, and if she had any intention of involving him and Sheldon in the pregnancy, wouldn't she have done it already?

"Oh, for God's sake, Pete," she scoffs, squirming slightly. "Just do what you need to do to get what you want. Wasn't that your advice to me a few weeks back? If she turns you down, at least you know you tried."

"When did you become a matchmaker?" he asks, skeptically, not exactly changing the subject, but at least getting himself out of committing to something he's sure Charlotte would badger him about later.

"When I had Violet Turner callin' my boyfriend at seven AM to come help her tie her shoes and bring her breakfast," she grumbles. "Distract her, Pete — for the sake of _my_ breakfast and untied shoes."

Ah. There we go. The selfish motive — he knew it was in there somewhere. She's not _that_ altruistic.

But before he gets a chance to needle her for it, she tenses and hisses, wincing. "Damnit," she mutters. "This back pain's only gonna get worse as I get bigger, isn't it?"

She sounds resigned to the fact, and she may be right, but she's been in good spirits today, so he placates her with, "We'll keep working on it. Should keep it from getting too bad."

"Mm." It's half assent, half discomfort, and she closes her eyes again. Then smirks. "Maybe you could just move in with us. We have a guest room, y'know. You could stay there, give me massages every day…"

"Isn't that what you have Cooper for?" he points out, and she frowns.

"Yeah," she concedes. "I guess it is."

Her mouth curves into a smile again, and she adds, "He just doesn't have your magic hands."


	74. Chapter 74

She tempted fate.

She should never have suggested it, not even as a joke. Because the universe just isn't that kind to her, and it seems to think the perfect antidote to her casual, not-remotely-serious suggestion that her masseur-slash-possible-kinda-sorta-best-friend move into their house is to have _Violet_ of all people camped out at their place for days on end.

It had started innocently enough. Charlotte had come home from work on Friday to find Cooper and Violet parked on the couch in front of the TV, hollering their commentary at the latest _American Bake-Off_.

It had been unexpected, and not entirely welcome as far as she was concerned, but, well, what was she supposed to say? _No, I'm sorry, your best friend can't stop by to watch your favorite TV show with you?_

That was out of the question.

So she'd fixed herself some dinner, and taken it out back, enjoying the view and trying valiantly to ignore the pointless heckling going on just inside the house. Of course, _American Bake-Off_ was followed up by some History Channel documentary, and then an old movie on TCM (she'd joined them for that one - it was one she hadn't seen since her film studies class, and besides, it was gettin' chillly outside). And then of course, it had been so late that Cooper had insisted Violet stay the night. Because the drive from the Palisades to Hollywood was long, and they had a guest room anyway, might as well make use of it, and no, of course Charlotte won't mind.

And okay, alright, truth be told, it hadn't irritated her _that_ much. Violet was practically asleep on the sofa already, so driving probably _would_ have been a hazard. And Cooper was right - they had space for her. So Charlotte had lent her something to sleep in, and off Violet had gone to the guest room for the night.

In the morning, Cooper had insisted on making "his best girls" a massive breakfast. Pancakes, waffles, two kinds of eggs. When Charlotte had pointed out he wasn't feeding an army, Cooper had smiled and reminded her he was cooking for himself, plus four. Charlotte had rolled her eyes and insisted Harper didn't make her _that_ hungry... And then decimated three eggs, two pancakes, a waffle, and a criminal amount of bacon. So. Okay. Yes. Maybe she was hungry - but Violet had crammed in even more food than she had, something Charlotte was irrationally (and embarrassingly) proud of.

She was supposed to pull a half day on Saturday - something Cooper hated her doing on weekends, but there hadn't been much of a choice this week. She was backed up to high hell at the practice; if she didn't work through the backlog, she'd never be able to convince William White to keep her on if she had to go on early leave. So she'd dressed and headed into work, leaving the two of them at the kitchen island in their pajamas like a couple of kids.

She'd fully expected to have her house - and her boyfriend - to herself when she got home.

She'd been wrong.

By the time she got home, Cooper was already making dinner - for three. (Or five, if you counted the unborn.)

Now, it's bedtime, and Violet's still here, tucked into the guest room again.

"She's goin' home tomorrow," Charlotte insists, as she pulls down the covers on her side of the bed she shares with Cooper.

He frowns as he does the same on his own side. "Oh, c'mon, this is nice. Having the two of you here for the whole weekend. I get to spend time with you, she doesn't feel abandoned-"

"For God's sake, Coop, she's not a puppy." Charlotte slides onto the bed, tugs the covers up over her legs. "Or a child. She's a grown woman - who, by the way, has two men who are more than willin' to make sure she doesn't feel abandoned, if only she'd let them."

"Really?" he sighs, climbing in next to her and turning out the bedside lamp. "You're going to argue for Pete and Sheldon now?"

"Pete's my friend," she reminds him. Again. For the millionth time, it seems. "And besides, she still doesn't like me, and I don't particularly like her. And I'd rather not spend my _entire_ weekend tryin' to make awkward small talk."

"So maybe try having an actual conversation - you talked about the movie last night," he points out, and Charlotte rolls her eyes in the dark.

"No. She talked _through_ the movie last night. There's a difference."

"You answered."

"I was bein' polite." She shifts under the covers, tugs a pillow between her knees, and adjusts it until she's comfortable. "But I'm runnin' outta polite, Coop. I mean it. I like havin' Sundays with you. A whole day to just... be together." She's playing on his need to feel needed by her, and it's a little manipulative, but it's also true, so she doesn't bother feeling too guilty about it. She does roll half onto her back to add a pointed, "Alone," though. And then, "I look forward to that."

Cooper huffs next to her, then turns and drapes an arm over her belly, his face ending up against her shoulder, where he mutters a muffled, "Not fair."

"Me wantin' to spend quality time with the father of my child is unfair?" Charlotte questions.

"No," he grumps. "But you're cheating, and I know it."

She fights the smirk that wants to form on her face, and insists, "I am not. It's the truth."

"Fine," he relents, pressing a kiss against her shoulder. "I'll send her home - after brunch, though. She requested chocolate chip pancakes, and I already bought the chips."

She makes a face he can't see, and rolls back onto her side, then adjusts her pillow again, and settles in for the night.

She's almost asleep when he pokes her lightly in the back.

"Hey."

"Mm?" she answers grumpily.

"I love you," he tells her, and Charlotte can't help smiling. And then his hand makes it's way around to her belly, and he adds, "Both of you."

Charlotte lets out a little chuckle, and assures, "We love you, too. Now let us get some dang sleep."

He scoffs, and mutters something about what he gets for trying to be romantic, but he obliges her.

Before long, he's sound asleep next to her, and she's nowhere near it.

Figures.

Harper is awake, doing somersaults and practicing her kickboxing, and Charlotte resigns herself to another late night. At least she has a Violet-free tomorrow to look forward to.

She hopes.


	75. Chapter 75

They're just finishing brunch when Cooper's phone rings - it's his mother, so of course he takes it. He heads into the living room, leaving Charlotte alone with Violet at the kitchen island.

Great.

For a minute, the only sound is the scraping of fork against plate, and Cooper's conversation wafting in patches from the other room. Violet isn't looking at her, pushing the last pieces of pancake through the syrup on her plate. The thick awkwardness sets Charlotte on edge, until she realizes she's been presented with a rare opportunity: she's alone, with Violet, outside of work. And Cooper's not here to scold her.

Perfect.

She sets her fork down and says, "So. Pete or Sheldon?"

Violet looks up, all deer in headlights. "What?"

"Pete or Sheldon?" she repeats. "Obviously they both get ya goin', or you wouldn't be in this situation, so I'm askin' - who do you want more?" Violet's still blinking at her, clearly thrown by the topic of conversation, floundering for an answer, or, more likely, a retort that can keep her from having to answer in the first place. "Sheldon seems nice enough, if a little dull. Pete's got those magic hands. Doesn't seem like much of a struggle to me, but then, I'm not you. So. I'm askin'. Pete or Sheldon?"

"I...I don't think I want to talk about this with you."

"Well, I don't really relish spendin' my entire weekend with you just because my boyfriend doesn't want you to feel like you're all on your lonesome, which is ridiculous, by the way, because you have two men who seem to be perfectly willin' to tie your shoes and get you pickles and ice cream or whatever, so put on your big girl panties and make a damn choice."

There's a bite in her voice now, and she hadn't intended to get this feisty, but now that she has Violet all to herself, she finds herself full of both her own ire and a good dose of righteous indignation on Pete's behalf. Her tone has snapped Violet to attention, though; she's straightened her back, gotten a little fight in her eyes. Well, good for her.

"Charlotte, this really isn't any of your business."

"That's my kitchen stool you're parked on, my babydaddy you're glomming onto, and my friend who's kid you might be carryin', so yeah, actually, I'd say it is." After a second, she adds, "If it wasn't any of my business, I wouldn't give a damn."

Violet's eyes narrow. "Did Pete ask you to talk to me about this?"

"No," Charlotte replies, stabbing her fork into the lone strawberry on her plate and popping it into her mouth.

"Alright..." Violet picks up her napkin, wipes at a drop of syrup that landed on the countertop, then folds it. Stalling. Coward. "I still don't think it's your business, but those guys you're so sure want to be involved both told me they didn't want kids, so-"

"Before or after they found out you were knocked up?" Charlotte manages, after swallowing her mouthful of strawberry.

Violet hesitates, then simply says, "Pete doesn't want kids."

Charlotte makes a point to sound more friendly when she says, "I don't think that's true." You get more flies with honey and all that.

Violet shakes her head. "No offense, Charlotte, but I think I know Pete a little better than you do."

"I spend two hours every week with Pete - sometimes more. Just the two of us," Charlotte reminds. "We talk. I know more than you might think."

The brunette's mouth draws into a frown. "Did he tell you he wants this?"

Charlotte's not sure how much of her conversations with Pete she oughta be sharing with Violet, so she treads carefully, opting for: "He's not sure what he's allowed to want, Violet. You're not exactly givin' those guys a lot to go on, and gettin' his hopes up for a kid that's not his..." She lets that hang there - it speaks for itself. "You need to start thinkin' about makin' a choice."

The emotional temperature of the room has cooled a little; this is actually a conversation now, not an ambush. Violet still looks like she'd rather get her teeth drilled than talk about this, but she seems to actually be considering, and gives enough to admit, "I've been actively not choosing."

"Well, as someone who's a little ahead of you in this whole babymakin' process, let me tell you that you might wish you had someone around soon. And you can't have Coop. I need him. So think on it. For what it's worth, I'd choose Pete. If for no other reason than that I'm sure we're gonna be stuck on double dates, or playdates, or some other form of torture, and I find him infinitely more tolerable than Sheldon."

"Well, as long as it works for you," Violet tells her sarcastically.

Cooper comes strolling back in, looking pleased as punch that they seemed to have managed a conversation in his absence. "What are you ladies chatting about?" he asks, and Charlotte jumps to answer.

"Girl stuff," she says pleasantly, looking hard at Violet. She'd rather not deal with being scolded for sticking her nose in.

Surprisingly, Violet goes along with her, adding, "Yep. Girl stuff."

Cooper gives them a funny look, then seems to let it go and smiles. "Well, good. I'm glad you're bonding."

Bonding. Badgering. Charlotte figures it's pretty much the same thing.

Two hours later, she finally has her home - and her man - to herself.


	76. Chapter 76

"I hate your girlfriend," Violet tells Cooper, first thing Monday morning.

He goes from glad-to-see-her smile to full-on grimace, and lets out a sigh. Things had seemed to be going well on Sunday morning. He'd gotten this crazy idea that maybe, just maybe…

"Vi," he groans. "Come on. She was nice to you - for, like, two whole days she was nice to you - and trust me, she didn't want to be." On second thought, maybe saying things like that isn't helpful. "By which I mean, y'know, even when she was tired from work, and-"

Violet waves him off.

"Save it, Coop. I know she doesn't like me, and believe me, it's mutual. She just…" Vi goes pensive, reaching for a mug from the office kitchen cabinet. "She just said something yesterday, and it's bugging me, and I was already bugged. So. I hate your girlfriend, and her nosy… nose."

He's tempted to call her out on her lame finish there, but he wants to rewind to whatever Charlotte said that caused Violet grief. Again. "What did she say? Was I there when she said it — did I miss it?"

He's usually pretty good at policing Charlotte and her snark towards Violet, but he didn't think she'd said anything too out of line during brunch.

"No, you were… otherwise occupied," Violet grumbles as she fills her mug with water and heads for the microwave.

Cooper scowls. "Girl talk, huh?" he asks accusingly. The only time he'd left them alone was when his mother called, and he'd known there was something forced about their interaction when he came back. He's chalked it up to their usual struggle to be civil; apparently, he'd been wrong.

Violet punches numbers on the microwave keypad, presses start and turns back to Cooper. She shrugs a shoulder and says, "You were so excited about us getting along all morning, I figured it wasn't worth calling her out. And besides, it wasn't like what she said was _bad_… I mean, it was horrible, and I was trapped, and she totally pounced as soon as you left the room, and it was none of her business to begin with-"

"Vi," he interrupts. "Breathe."

She sucks in a breath, dutifully, then continues. "But I do think she might have genuinely wanted to be… helpful? Or at least, I think even if she was selfishly motivated - which she totally is, by the way — I think she might have also been trying to be… kind?" She screws her face up, like that's not the word she means at all - or maybe just not one she thinks fits on Charlotte under any circumstances. "Or at least, not awful," she amends. "I think she was trying to be not awful, which is why it's bugging me so much."

"Okay, sometime in the next decade I'm going to need you to fill me in on what she actually _said_," Cooper reminds her, and Violet looks a little embarrassed.

The microwave beeps, and she startles just the tiniest bit, then pulls a box to tea bags from another cabinet, and flips through them for the one she wants. As she's flipping, she gives up the goods, but with her face pointed down and her clear distaste for the subject matter, she ends up mumbling her way through, "She wants me to find out whose baby it is."

Join the club, Cooper thinks to himself. He can't even be mad at Charlotte about this one — it's the logical thing to do considering the circumstances, and if everyone else has tried and failed, hell, why not let Charlotte at her.

"And she alluded to Pete maybe, possibly having suggested that if the baby was his, he would want to be involved."

He can hear her better now that she's plucked her favorite herbal blend from the box and ripped open the packet. She's dunking it into her mug to steep as he tells her, "Of course he would - he's Pete. He's not going to leave you high and dry with his kid."

"He said he didn't want kids," she reminds.

"And, as I have pointed out to you so many times before-"

"That was before he knew I was pregnant," Violet supplies wearily. "Yeah. I know. I get it. I just… I don't know. I hate your girlfriend."

Cooper smiles, and shrugs, and says, "I kinda like her for this one."

He's totally unsurprised by the glare that comment earns him.

"Look, if she's got you thinking about the paternity test-"

"It's too late for the CVS test," she cuts him off, and he kinda wants to shake her for her stubbornness right now, but instead he just offers another gentle reminder.

"But not for the amnio."

"I'm not getting an amnio," she tells him resolutely.

"Vi." It's another plaintive whine, but come _on_, when is she going to stop being so bullheaded about this?

"I'm_ not_. We've been over this." She lifts her mug off the countertop and adds, "And I have patients to prep for."

"You're stalling," he accuses, but with little malice.

But Violet just walks past him and says, once more for good measure, "I hate your girlfriend."

Cooper watches her go.


	77. Chapter 77

_No._

_No, no, no, no, no._

It's a constant, panicked mantra in Charlotte's head as she leaves the ladies room near her office and makes the trek to Labor and Delivery.

_No, no, no, this is not happening._ This cannot be happening. This is the exact opposite of what she wants to be happening.

She reminds herself to stay calm, to take a breath, but it's damned near impossible right now.

All she can see is red.

Little drops of bright, red blood in her underwear, smeared on the toilet paper, coloring the water in toilet.

This is bad. This is _bad._

She finds Addison within two minutes of stepping off the elevator, and grabs her wrist hard, hissing "I need to talk to you," and yanking her toward an empty room.

"I'll be in to check on her in five minutes!" Addison calls back to the nurse she'd been talking to, just before Charlotte shuts the door behind them. "Charlotte!" Addison huffs, annoyed.

But before she can say anything more, Charlotte blurts, "I'm bleeding. Help me."

Addison's whole demeanor changes, going from irritated to concerned, soothing doctor mode. "Okay, how much? How bad?"

"Not a lot, I don't think. I just noticed it in the bathroom." Her heart is pounding, her palms are sweaty. This cannot be happening, and if this going to happen, she cannot afford for this to happen _now._

"Spotting? A little bit more?" Addison asks, guiding her toward the bed, and urging her to sit.

"A little more," Charlotte figures, settling onto the bed.

"But not gushing, or-"

"No," Charlotte assures. "No, nothin' like that."

"Okay." Addison settles her hands on Charlotte's shoulders, gives her a squeeze, and looks her straight in the eyes. "Look at me." Charlotte already is. "We knew this might happen. Bleeding in and of itself is not a crisis. Take a deep breath."

Charlotte sucks in a lungful of oxygen, lets it out slowly.

"Good," Addison urges. "I'm going to do an ultrasound, and you're gonna rest here for a little while. If everything is normal, and the bleeding stops, you'll go home."

"Bed rest?" Charlotte asks. Please God don't let it be bed rest, she cannot afford bed rest right now.

"Let me do the ultrasound first," Addison tells her, and her soothing tone sets Charlotte on edge. She doesn't like soothing. She's not one people generally soothe. Soothing means bad things, and she needs this to be okay. I mean, obviously it's not _okay_, but she needs it to not be soothe-worthy.

Within minutes, Charlotte is changed into a gown, Addison has wrangled an ultrasound machine, and they're looking at the grainy black-and-white image of her daughter on the screen. The relief that floods her as Addison says, "She looks great, heartbeat's strong and steady," is palpable, and for the first time since she walked into that bathroom, Charlotte manages to actually relax.

"Placenta?" she asks, without hope or expectation.

"Still encroaching," Addison confirms, "But there's still time for that to change."

"It won't," Charlotte mutters, letting out a sigh of irritated disappointment. She was so hoping there'd be improvement, and then this happened.

"Charlotte."

She looks at Addison, who is looking much less soothing now than she was before. Much more glowery. This, Charlotte finds oddly comforting.

"Stay positive," Addison urges.

"Oh, please," Charlotte sneers. "Like that positive thinkin' crap works."

"It does," Addison insists, although her snark level almost rivals Charlotte's own. "Or, at the very least, negativity doesn't help. Now. You're going to stay here, we're going to monitor you for the evening, and if the bleeding stops, you can go home and rest there."

Charlotte nods, and asks a question whose answer she's dreading: "For how long? I don't have time for bed rest right now, Addison."

She's only at twenty-two weeks. If she's stuck on bed rest now, she'll lose her practice, she's sure of it.

"If there's no more bleeding, I want you off your feet today and tomorrow. You can go back to work after that, but you need to reduce your hours. No more twelve or fourteen hour days. And when you're home-"

"I'll be on my ass, makin' Cooper wait on me hand and foot," Charlotte assures, smoothing her hands over her belly, and telling herself that it could all be worse. So much worse than this. This isn't a death sentence - not for her, or the baby, or her practice. She can keep working, she just has to slow down. She can do slow. She can make that work.

"I'm sure Cooper won't have a problem with that," Addison smirks, and Charlotte forces a smile back at her. It falters after a second, though, morphs into a grimace as a twist of guilt twinges in her belly.

"We had sex," she admits. "Last night. You never said we couldn't, so… we have a few times. Could that have caused this?"

Addison lifts a conciliatory brow. "It can definitely exacerbate the problem, but it might've happened regardless. Either way, you're now officially on pelvic rest. No sex, no heavy lifting-"

"I know the drill," Charlotte assures. She's done plenty of reading in the last few weeks. She knows all the eventualities of this ticking time bomb in her belly. "I should call him," she tells Addison. Cooper is probably going to be pissed she didn't call him from the bathroom stall before she even went in search of Addison. And then she remembers, "Don't you have a patient?"

"I do," she confirms. "Several, in fact. So I'm going to leave you here, and a nurse is going to come by and hook you up with a fetal monitor - I want to keep an eye on the baby for a little bit, just to make sure everything stays normal. With any luck, you'll be out of here in the morning."

"One can only hope," Charlotte sighs, reaching for the phone as Addison leaves, and dialing the Oceanside number.

It's time to inform Cooper of yet another complication.


	78. Chapter 78

"Be very careful not to touch your eyes, okay, Carter?" Cooper urges his patient, one more time - because he's eight, and it's pink eye, and you can never tell a kid that age too many times to keep his hands out of the gook. "That stuff spreads like nobody's business."

"Okay, Dr. Freedman."

As Carter trudges out of the exam room, Cooper hands a prescription to the boy's mom, and tells her, "Use the drops, keep him home from school until he's no longer contagious." He drops his voice to add, "And keep his hands away from his eyes," one more time.

She smirks, nods, and tells him she'll try, as she takes the prescription and Cooper leads them out toward the waiting area. He's barely given them a wave toward the elevator when he's being called over to the reception desk.

The receptionist hands him a note and says, "Dr. King called for you, from St. Ambrose. She says she's in room 213, and you should come by when you're done with your patients."

Cooper yanks the note from her fingers, reading it quickly as his pulse begins to race. "In room 213? As in admitted?"

"I… don't know," the receptionist tells him with a grimace. "She didn't say. She just said not to bother you if you were with a patient…"

"You should've bothered me," Cooper mutters, adding, "Get Sam to cover my last two appointments," before heading for the elevator. He punches the button once, twice, a third anxious time, but the elevator is all the way down on two, so he heads for the stairs. He hits the fourth floor before he remembers his car keys are in his office, and he has to go back up.

By the time he gets to the hospital he's so tied into knots that the best greeting he can manage when he stalks into her room is, "You had them wait to tell me until I was done with my patient?"

Charlotte sighs and rolls her eyes, adjusts the blanket over her lap. "It's not an emergency," she reasons.

"You're in a hopsital bed," he points out, scowling over the monitors next to her bed. He checks the fetal heart rate reading, and sighs with relief - the strip looks normal, as far as he can tell. Their daughter is blissfully undisturbed by whatever's sent her mother into hospital care.

"Yes," she confirms, sounding more irritated than he thinks she has any right to. "I am. But it's just for observation. I had a little bleeding; Addison wanted me off my feet for a while. If I don't bleed anymore tonight, I can go home, rest for a day, and I'll be right as rain in no time. Back at work and everything."

She's trying to be reassuring, smiling encouragingly at him and reaching for his hand. Cooper doesn't like that her main concern seems to be getting back in the saddle, but he's not sure why he should expect anything else from her. He takes her hand then tugs a nearby chair closer to the edge of her bed and sits. "You should take the rest of the week off," he says, unsurprised when she rolls her eyes and shakes her head, sighing.

"Coop-"

"You should be resting," he interrupts, "Not worrying about when you can get back to work."

"I'm not-" She cuts herself off this time, sighs and pulls her fingers from his, looking at her belly and rubbing her hands over the swell, skirting the strap of the monitor and the bump of the transducer. That's more like it, he thinks. Her calm veneer is slipped a little, her anxiety showing through."I'm not worryin' about work. I'm tryin' to be positive." She looks at him then, gives him a wry smile. "Doctors orders."

Ah.

Cooper lifts a hand to brush her bangs back from her forehead, and she surprises him by shutting her eyes, letting him stroke down her cheek, her neck, without protest. Instead, she just sighs and tilts her head to give him better access. She really is worried.

"I still think you should rest," he tries again, gently, hoping she'll be more receptive this time.

She opens her eyes and smiles in a way that lets him know she won't be, then gives him a small concession: "We'll see what Addison says."

He knows she's not going to budge any further than that, so he nods, and does another visual survey of her. She looks normal. Healthy. As normal and healthy as one can look in a hospital bed with a fetal monitor strapped to their belly, anyway. He tries to tell himself to take a breath and relax, that they knew this was a risk, but he can't help thinking of the contrast with the way she'd looked this morning, all vibrant and flirty, teasing him about how much of a shame it was they didn't have time for a morning quickie considering how good the sex had been last night.

And it had been _good_. Really, really -

Shit.

They had really good sex, and now she's bleeding.

He feels a guilty heat creep across his skin, and lends a voice to his sudden concern: "We shouldn't have had sex."

This clearly isn't a revelation for her. She chuckles slightly, shifts on the bed, and agress, "Yeah."

He sighs, crosses his arms against the rail of her bed and plunks his head down on top of them. "We've had so little sex. We've had almost no sex!"

"Mmhmm," Charlotte agrees ruefully. "Might explain why it was so good last night."

Cooper smirks at her, but he can't help feeling responsible for this. The sex had been his idea. He reaches one hand over, settles it on her belly, and Charlotte lets her own fall on top of it, weaving their fingers.

"Which is good," she continues, "Because it's the last sex we're havin' in the foreseeable future. I'm on pelvic rest until further notice. And I'm supposed to stay off my feet at home."

He gives her fingers a little squeeze, and assures, "I will wait on you hand and foot. Anything you need. Remote, a book, water, midnight pizza, whatever. You sit, I'll get."

She murmurs her approval, then frowns and admits, "I'm no good at sittin' around, Coop. I need to be doin' somethin."

"You are doing something," he assures, putting gentle pressure on her belly. "You're taking care of our girl."

She nods, breathes a _Right_, and Cooper urges her to just focus on that. Focus on Harper.

A minute passes in silence, and then she scowls at him. "Don't you need to get back to work?" she asks, and Cooper shakes his head at her. Sometimes he thinks she doesn't really get him at all.

"I'm where I need to be," he tells her, watching as the corners of her mouth curve up pleasantly. "Someone else can handle work."

She settles her other hand over their joined ones, and says, "You know I love you, right?"

"God, I hope so," he teases, "Otherwise, what are we doing here?"

Charlotte laughs softly, then murmurs, "We're going to be just fine. We're going to stay positive, and we're going to be just fine."

She shuts her eyes as she's talking, and Cooper knows she's reassuring herself as much as him. They stay like that for a while, her taking deep, measured breaths, and him focusing on the ways he can adjust his workload to better accomodate taking care of her over the next few months, if it comes to that. He'll do whatever he has to to keep his girls safe and healthy - even if that means wrestling with Charlotte's stubborn side.


End file.
